I’m
not going to say his name
This
isn’t Harry Potter
Still
I refuse to spill the beans
You
want hard luck
Read
some John Fante
I
was never all that impressed, but that hardly means anything because I’m pretty
damn sure Bukowski was onto something when he waxed poetic about this relic of
dust and brick
It
doesn’t matter
I’ll
take more allergy medicine
And
I will feel better for another eight hours
The
hits just keep coming
Think
of me as an abused poet who needs to go to a poet shelter and beat this
addiction to words and the silence quaking between the consonants and vowels
Vanya
White and Pat Sajak will come and give some life affirming presentation about
how they have no problem being just another sellout on the puzzle board of life
Let’s
not bother with names
Or
professions
Or
why we find ourselves wishing we were better gamblers and didn’t believe so
resolutely in doing our abandoned and forsaken work
I
was a “King Bee” before I gave up the sweet taste of honey for more mundane and
less inspired tasks
Now
I play at a Holiday Inn in my mind on the weekends and keep things interesting
by playing Russian roulette like Johnny Ace did before one auspicious bullet
slowed him down for ever after
And
never forget I loved you when you were nothing and will continue to love you when
you’re trace energy because there is nothing like the supernatural to keep one
guessing and on their toes
Charles Cicirella
5/25/16
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