Saturday, March 24, 2018

Nature cannot be composed.

Less guns
Less God
We’re so doomed

Waiting for them to show the condo
It’s time for me to leave
Crossroads call out to me like a frozen lake

Some poems take longer to birth
We’re all midwives in our own ways and deplorable means
Hide your eyes I am ready to flash the world my nonessentials

Less emotional baggage
Less hypocritical bullshit
We’re so out of touch

I walked the pier until the wind kicked up a howling ultimatum
Linda walked to the end and thankfully made it back to the picnic table
We were lost and then we were found, buked and scorned by lasting first impressions

Waiting for them to knock on the cell door and ask what I want for my last meal
It’s time to cozy up to the governor and pray a stay of execution is in my near future
Don’t rely upon coincidence when chaos keeps you in line with a closed fist

Charles Cicirella

No comments: