Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Creaky Little Bones

What’s the purpose of all this writing?
Does it mean anything?
I mean does it mean anything to anyone other than myself and does that even matter?

I stood up and my little bones creaked and it made me feel old and it made me feel human.
I’m not a super hero. In fact these days I’m not even God as my martyr complex goes the way of the Loch Ness Monster and Al Capone’s vault.
I saw Geraldo Rivera at Passover a few years back. I said hello because I’ve always been drawn to pseudo celebrities and their insufferable politics.

What’s the purpose of all these cave drawings?
Do they have any purpose?
I mean do they have a purpose to more than just the cave dwellers who are willing to risk their lives spelunking in the dark after hours?

I stood up and my little bones creaked in protest as I attempted to walk into the kitchen for a quick bite.
I’m not a monster. In fact these days even being called the spawn of Satan doesn’t fit me like it once possibly did.
I’m growing older as I consider throwing in the towel and forgetting about all of these high minded ideals as the status fucking quo calls out to me like a death sentence from a bygone era.

Charles Cicirella


Haven’t met her yet
But I really like her mother
And I know poetic apples
Don’t fall too far from their
Poetic roots.

We expound upon whatever
There is around us attempting
To bring us down or alter our
True north because unconditional
Love doesn’t always wipe away the
Tears, remorse or ridicule.

And I was lost in translation before
I accepted the cost for doing no more
Business and going it completely alone
Because continually lying to myself was
Forcing me to be someone I was not.

Hanna is a trailblazer and I know this
To be true because the ether ruminates
Through each and everyone of us at the
Speed of light and leaves no room for
Mistaken identities or lost causes.

Haven’t met her yet
In fact I’m even too afraid to friend her
On FB because I don’t want to send the
Wrong message in these politically correct
Times where no one any longer expresses
Their true feelings because they’re afraid of
Blowback and all the bullshit going along
With it.

Charles Cicirella

Tuesday, July 19, 2016


We’re all self-medicated.
Some of us addicted to Cheetos that turn our fingers Donald Trump orange.
Some of us addicted to heroin that turns our souls pitch black.
Some of us addicted to this nothingness that’s killing us in little and large bits.

What if I pretend you’re Sartre as No Exit becomes all too familiar in our censored lives.
I expect nothing and know you expect even less. Our match was made in both Heaven and Hell as we defy gravity and start believing in liberty for all the non-citizens.
Let’s redact our most harmful of memories and promise never to take a full stomach for granted.

We’re all self-medicated.
Some of us swear on the Bible because believing is believed to be the cosmic glue.
Some of us don’t need anything but a pallet on the floor to get them through.
Some of us are addicted to the spark that occurs when the right two words ignite.

Charles Cicirella