Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Aztec Ruins

Civilization born from myth
The look of mayhem in your desert island eyes always keeps me coming back for more
I’ll never understand why you don’t like your tits

I want a doughnut, but not one that the powdered sugar gets on my fingers
I want you on all fours, but not because I think you’re a doggy. In fact it has nothing to do with me wanting you to fetch my L.L. Bean slippers
It’s been pointed out to me that my poetry objectifies women and for that I am very sorry even though nothing could be further from the lactating truth

Civilization propped up on kickstand-banana-seat-lies and the inhumanity of another festering-ego-sore
Jack was right, “You can’t handle the truth,” so stop acting so high and mighty because when you fall the damage will be colossal
Nobody believed he would win and when he did all of the racist scampering cock and cunt roaches came out of the deplorable woodwork to stake their claim in the primordial mud

I want a cup of instant coffee that doesn’t taste like Juan Valdez pissed in it
I want you to stop pretending I meant nothing and for you to lower your draw bridge and welcome me back inside your Hello Kitty scandalous reprimands
It’s been brought to my attention I leak like a sieve and that’s probably true because I’ve always been full of shit and my holes have always been bigger than the Scotch tape covering them

How about we disappear into a jungle book of our own devising?
The kind of neighborhood where you ask no questions about the bloodstains on the carnivorous walls
Was there ever a time you gave me a second look or was that all fabricated because you were bored and sad from having just lost your dog?

Charles Cicirella

Friday, October 27, 2017

For Michael Grover


Reading his words
Had to take a break
Make some instant coffee

Coffee too hot to drink
Cooling next to me
I intend no disrespect

His poetry slaps me in the face
Like cold water
Like cool death

My mother’s hands were cold when I touched them
Her friends wanted to pull the sheet over her face
Hospice worker came in and said we don’t like to hide death and I agree with her

Covering my mother’s face wasn’t out of respect, but instead was a way, I guess, for her friends to try and pretend she wasn’t gone
I pulled the white sheet back down and looked at my mom in all her beauty and grace
She was like a chain link fence feeling the sun on her autumnal cheeks for the first time

Studying Michael’s words
Looked up Cherie Bullock
Read and very much enjoyed her poem “Carbon Dated”

Michael Grover I desire to sit in a tiny room with you, both of us writing what we believe is the next great American novel
Fuck I’m not a novelist and I’m guessing neither are you
The space heater lashes out at us with forked tongue and Grimm eyebrows

Charles Cicirella

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

Choking One Out


Feel like making a connection
A real connection, nothing diet or circumspect about it
As connections go I’m long overdue for a doozy

Stop the presses
All this yellow journalism has to go
Propping up an orange menace with an endless barrage of nude coverage does no one no good and dumbs us down more than you’ll ever realize in your blissed out ignorance

Splatter my brains all over the place
Like JFK’s except mine will be less noteworthy because I’ll never be President and I’ve never been much of a ladies man
Stand there standing the test of time while I turn blue from holding my stale breath

Feel like making a connection
A genuine connection, nothing duplicitous or guarded about it
As patience goes mine has been wearing thin like an old mobster that’s afraid to get plugs and instead combs it over like every other schmuck on this disconnected planet

Charles Cicirella

Saturday, October 21, 2017



Received the kind of news no one wants to receive.
My mother said she was in the end of days and she wasn’t kidding in the least little bit.
She told me that my sense of humor during this time was strange and all I could think was without my sense of humor I’m already gone.

Nothing can be reversed or returned at this latency stage.
You wore it down now you own it no matter the poor health you find your body in.
Tearing out patches of your flesh and pretending you’re one of the undead when nothing could be further from the diluted and distilled, bittersweet truth.

Just dropped my mother off at hospice. I told my friend Ted and he said “Oh, Charles, that's so heavy” and he’s right it is heavy. In fact it’s heavier than my own mother is at this debilitating time.
We can only do what we can do while people’s expectations of us must be left in a ditch because there’s no point in sapping all of our energies doing our darndest to make you feel better about yourselves.
Let’s just cut to the chase and forgive and forget circumstantial evidence and the end always justifying the means. Instead let’s act like humans and accept each other for exactly who we are and not for what we want or expect each other to be.

Charles Cicirella

Saturday, October 07, 2017

Deconstructed (For Ted Kane)


deconstructs from a to z
leaving nothing in between
rosary beads diddley bow

mining for a heart of gold
blood diamond cadavers
rotting in the disillusioned sun

it’s high time we stopped pussy footing around
you wanted a pussy grabber and chief
well you got it now whatcha gonna do?

deconstruction devalued in the eye of a narcissistic god killer
able bodies only get you to the grave beyond that it’s all a jump ball
i’m so down and out when looking up all I see is my proctologist in the rearview

he deconstructs because there’s nothing better to do with his hands
he deconstructs because peeling the onion with his guitar time of the assassins tool is the only effective method of pulling the band-aid from the scab
he deconstructs because all of our lives depend on it including his own

Charles Cicirella

Having a Nervous Breakdown

This is not a false alarm
It’s all happening
My brains are starting to pull apart

Too much stress
Not enough turning of the pressure valve
Common occurrence among nihilists and scourges of the Earth

Touching myself doesn’t always get the job done
I cannot get enough of young black women fucking
It’s always consensual and among consenting adults

My heart is beating out of my chest
If I had a hammer I’d be more than Pete Seeger, I’d be Pete’s Dragon
Let’s call it a day and cut our loses before the baby gets more than just cut in half

This is not a false alarm
I’ve never seen much point in alarmists
Just like extremists oftentimes their bark is far worse than their bite

Charles Cicirella

Friday, October 06, 2017

Glass Pipe (For Rick and Colleen McDonald)


Always liked her father
Because he never not once looked down on me
Even though he towered over me like The Friendly Giant or a skyscraper

Always secretly liked her
Because she takes shit from no one
And according to her father she’s a genius when it comes to music

They watched Django Unchained while I went upstairs and did my own thing because I’ve never been a fan of Quentin Tarantino except for Reservoir Dogs and Natural Born Killers
They seemed to enjoy it and we still got stoned as I ignored the overt racism and Quentin’s annoying way of belaboring the obvious while pretending he’s out of the ordinary

Never forget when Colleen jumped off that cliff. It appeared she was jumping into nothingness, but she said she’d done it before so I trusted I would see her again
I didn’t go into the deep end even though her cajoling was tempting and maybe drowning wouldn’t have been half bad
We sat on their front steps as he told me in his ‘take no prisoners’ method that he had played the game and lost

My heart will be forever broken

Charles Cicirella

Tuesday, October 03, 2017

Writing her poetry always makes me feel better. (For Katie Boyd)


She turns me on and I’ve never even met her face to face
I wonder if I turn her on and if she likes my face
My consonants and vowels desire to climb inside and take up permanent residence

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves
Let’s not fall in love with the first cute office worker with a Glasgow accent we meet
Let’s not declare ourselves incompetent until our competency is tested thoroughly

Breaking beneath the pressure of her afternoon matinee smiles
Walking along the breakwater with nothing, but our wits to protect us
Katie somehow keeps me calm by doing nothing as everything comes our way

I wonder if intellect impresses her more than athletic prowess
Does she feel more comfortable left to her own devices or welcoming the occasional nudge or wink from the Eye of Horus?
Is a library or coffeehouse more to her liking or does she prefer being put through her paces in the middle of the night as her music plays and cities burn all around her?

Shutting down is oftentimes the only way to uncover the missing pieces of our autumnal minds
When I saw her standing there with nothing on but her Wheel of Fortune jammies I knew I was in for the ride of my red wheelbarrow life
She’s every season wrapped up in a magnificent hillock of “sugar and spice and all things nice.”

Charles Cicirella