Wednesday, February 07, 2018


Listening to Craig Firsdon read one of his poems
The last thing I remember is picking up black material from one of my socks
I’m alone ever since my mother passed away in October

I have no family to speak of
My friends are the only family I have and they’re all busy with their own families
Am I feeling sorry for myself? No, not really. It’s just the truth and the truth will either whip me into shape or retire me as I attempt breaking back into the human race

Craig lays it all down in the moment and I’m alone with his generous, genuine spirit
As I listen I’m reminded how it felt hearing Lincoln deliver the Gettysburg Address
Yes, I was there or I like to believe I was because when moments are marked in blood we must push through history and relive the very best parts of our future and past selves

The porn does only so much and the art fills in quite a bit, but there is still something I’m missing as I look back and see only one set of footprints in the embryonic snow
Maybe God was carrying me or maybe just maybe I’ll forever be lost in this empty space
The grieving process takes time like standing in line at the airport or sinking your teeth into a juicy steak

Charles Cicirella

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