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
2/26/18
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