Thursday, January 12, 2017

Ninth Poem (Gravedigger)

Scratching at the inside lid of the coffin.
Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me.
Get on the motorcycle and drive across this expansive country like a free mason full of secrets and light beer.

They’re not paying attention.
Refuse to put any coins in my jukebox.
I’m made of vinyl or shellac. Something wherein you can put a needle atop my shiny surface and I’ll play you a tune while you dance, fuck or sleep like a depressed robot.

Sometimes I’m full of myself while other times I am full of somebody else. I still cannot wrap my Talmud head around either one because either I’m not religious enough or have always observed the wrong holidays.
When it comes to age I’m non-specific and expect you to come running when I crack my knuckles and belch like a sailor who’s never quite gotten over what happened to Ahab.
Unlike Jack I do not aspire to write or for that matter even read the great American novel. I figure I’ll be lucky if I eek out even a few lines of the great American comic book and that’s alright because every dog will have its day as fire hydrants gleam in the distance like pillars from a soulful Van the Man meditation.

I was a gravedigger then I was the grave and before I knew it I became the shovel and dug myself out of another Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole.
The White Rabbit who seems to always be late for a most important date whooshed right passed me paying no attention to who I was or why I may have arrived naked on the back of a jackass.
I like my mashed potatoes salted and buttered and I prefer small breasts and a nice round bum, but I’ll tell you this as I get older I find myself also not being against the occasional third nipple.

The most serious of poetry is also the most hilarious and reverent stand-up comedy.
There’s just no getting around that because oftentimes to relate to your reader you first must take them into your confidence and show them just how regular of a guy you are.
Self-deprecation also works wonders when standing in front of an audience of virtual strangers. Show them just how flawed you are and it will pay back in laughter and the occasional random phone number,

Charles Cicirella

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