Monday, June 25, 2018

Brilliant Hues

Rocks catapult down upon us from the Heavens.
We’re gluttons for punishment and other forms of calculated resistance.
You break the mold, you bought it.

Here’s where we stand against the wind and inclement weather.
So tired of waking up and swallowing more despair and coffee ice-cream.
I’d offer you sanctuary, but my church is closed to white people entitled to their ignorance, but not their own set of slipshod rules.

You want democracy?
Okay bend over and prepare yourself for the cavity search of your generic, hollowed out lives.
We stopped making cowboys and injuns around the time television became the new crack and video games taught our children to kill with no conscience.

People surprised at how low this not ready for primetime administration will go as a limbo stick draws another quavering line in the single-minded sands of time.
I’ve run out of jokes and snide comments to make about this President.
Violence and mean spirited bullshit is never the answer no matter how ill-equipped our country has become at dealing with the cancers eating away at our democratic hearts.

There’s an avalanche coming that will shake us to our sanctimonious cores.
You can do your best to pretend the fall of Rome is not upon us, but now you see it now you don’t as our empire evades questioning and slips out the back door.
Met a racist in a black forest of dos and don’ts. My friend kept borrowing her lighter as I watched my childhood disappear before melting eyes.

Charles Cicirella

Friday, June 22, 2018

Transformative (For Katie Boyd)

Dopey always my favorite of the Seven Dwarves,
But lately I’ve been thinking more and more about Doc
And how he took care of everyone without lifting a hammer

Katie broke all of the rules when she appeared on the scene with her dimples and diplomatic swing
Pushing back on time is a fool’s errand, but I signed up to be a fool and that will be my task until all of the diamonds turn back into coal
Leo my favorite actor until he and Kate got swept away by the Titanic

Are you a trailblazer or trail mix?
I’ll never forget when my dad would make me a tin roof sundae
Spanish peanuts are just something you must experience once in this life

Katie always knows how to bring you back into the fold
She does it with the gentleness of a fawn and the ferocity of the most devoted Bob Dylan fan
She won’t point out your missteps, but will make damn sure you know when you’ve overstepped

I sometimes catch myself whistling while I work. Other times I look up only to discover I’ve wandered into another graveyard or Starbucks
“Love Sick” in the naked night I’m quite certain the window shades are mocking me and the mock turtles will have something to say about it
You cradled me in your heart from the very first time we met on FB and the impression you make only deepens and becomes more transformative in scope

Charles Cicirella

Thursday, June 21, 2018

Some Other Realm

I’m not a storyteller, but if push comes to shove
I will spin you a tale that will curl your toes
She spit out the poison and returned to her invisible self
No one could tell the difference when she spun off this mortal coil

Lackadaisical to the nth degree
I believe it to be my best and most irresistible quality
When the buffalo chips are down you best learn to eat shit real good
The heat baked me into a charcoal briquette. I looked like a California Raisin without the milk or cereal bowl to sink into

Sometimes I wish life would intervene and end this tyranny of hopelessness
Of course without hopelessness hope would be just another misnomer like fear and nausea
Rilke is the weatherman of my soul and if that makes no sense to you well I cannot be expected to shape your mush into something resembling a mind
The leaves on the trees wanted me to tell you they miss you and wish you’d reconsider your decision to stay indoors under lock and key

Some other realm where the pigeons don’t aim for your head or shoulders when you’re waiting for a bus or soul mate
Another realm where the lesbians will sleep with a man if the conditions are just right and all the dildos have been put up on the shelf
Okay Marc I agree those last two lines leave a lot to be desired and are as groan worthy as they come
When casting yourself in shadows always keep in mind how close you are to the edge and that plunging is not always a sign of desperation

Charles Cicirella

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Not even a dribble.

Nothing left
Not even a dribble
Soaked in the memories of memorized restraint

It didn’t last long
The determination to resist a multitude of second chances
I was tired and I was through with all of those newspaper clippings

Let’s start back at the beginning
When words came to me like rainbows and unicorns hopped up on crystal meth
I was a Rabbi and a wordsmith and a disc jockey chopping through the ether

Just want to sit on the toilet like a despoiled king or a queen wearing a crooked crown
Waiting for someone to pull me out of the jaws of a five alarm alligator
I cannot find my bootstraps and even if I could I don’t believe my back would support this everlasting ego

Nothing right
Not even a drip or drop of pristine paint or anguished levity
Sometimes you just have to accept no one’s coming and pain is your very last defense

Charles Cicirella

I like the Groaners

“Sometimes I miss Charlie's bang up the face genius b/c I'm not expecting too much.” -Marc Steven Mannheimer

The very best clich├ęs will become transmogrified beneath a stranglehold of molten lava
Despair the high school bully I never much liked, trusted or was attracted to
I understand you’re full of guile. I also understand Latin is no longer a dead language

Placing words on the page serves as both a palate cleanser and an aphrodisiac
I was shocked to discover there are those who are generally surprised by my genius
Believed we were on the same page before realizing our playbooks had next to nothing in common

We stared into each other’s eyes like it was Cajun Mardi Gras and hungered for something more substantial than crow and light beer
Air conditioner is on eco and not sure what good it’s doing. The dog days of summer have me kneeling in front of the fan taking pug communion.
No one has desired me in decades and it takes its toll in shadowy concessions like Chicago’s Skyway

Charles Cicirella

Saturday, June 16, 2018


woke up
shat out the communication breakdowns
residing deep down in my soul

he called
we discussed Bob as a preacher and instigator
I was reminded of when we first met and how likable he’s always been

remove the stained glass separating us from the animals we chastise when REM sleep has us on the run
Christina M. Brooks a noble and enlightened soul carrying the burden of light so effortlessly
I’ll never look at a hotel robe belt the same way again

poetry is in each and everyone of us if we choose to run with the bulls and weather the stain of stigmata and the crucifixion of man
some of us leave it all out on the field while others hold back on living because we’ve never been all that comfortable with the throttle beneath our lightning stroke hands
the rules of this game shifted when I spied you naked as The Beatles played their last concert up there on that roof

come down from your throne and lick me like a mother tiger licks her cubs
sometimes I become so lonely I’m afraid I won’t recognize myself when I come out the other end
you taught me how to live and how to give and for that I’ll always be thankful and hold somewhat of a grudge

Charles Cicirella

Friday, June 15, 2018


no one begins with an advantage
we all start blank, ready to work or to die
I’m unleavened basking in the desert sun

heard your whispers when you were up and coming
stalled out somewhere between Heaven and Hell
my existence a monster truck deplete of fuel

out in the prison yard, always showing up fashionably late
gruel’s not much to look forward to after a grueling day of breaking rocks
nights even more full of terror and squealing pangs of reoccurring self-recrimination

I hope this poem reaches you in one piece
circus peanuts and fruitcakes plague my Jivaro Blowgun childhood
saw it advertised next to survival manifestos for the worried sick man

starved out on political correctness and neo-liberalism for the uncommon psychopath
wishy washy hidden agendas feeding word salad to the poor impoverished fly over states
trumpet blast kills someone on fifth ave. while a baby is ripped from their mother’s arms

charles cicirella

Monday, June 11, 2018

I Am a Phoenix

The ashes of our ancestors a guidepost passed the oceans of recycled debris and restless tomorrows.
I was a classless warrior until finally accepting every tilting windmill as a shot to the bow or reminder of how close we are to madness.
Falling on your sword is noble if you understand nobility and that not every Shogun is worthy of their branding.

Let’s go to the park after dark for another misguided attempt at date night because neither one of us thought to bring protection and are too lazy to hail a cab or figure out public transportation.
I wanted to be so much more as I approach fifty and yet truthfully I’ve always only aspired to be an artist and I’ve nailed that sucker as I drowned in the juices of my own infamy.
He took the belt from his hotel robe and hung himself. Play that moment over and over again in your head and you too will wind up dead before room service or the maid knocks on Heaven’s door.

I wanted to unload or at the very least bust a nut before she got home, but I became so fixated on death I forgot all about taking a dump or cumming.
Losing yourself in the latest gossip will only get you to the next newsstand and don’t forget newsstands are quickly becoming extinct just like dignity and the occasional wisps of hero worship.
I wanted to be my own man and then I came upon the concrete notion of gender fluidity and a rainbow of colors opened up before me like a Bonnie and Clyde bank vault or Larry King’s splendid suspenders.

I tried to watch Celebrity Family Feud, but quickly grew bored so I turned off the death ray television and instead called a friend.
We must break free from the societal chains we have become all too dependent upon as we take another ill-advised chomp of the poisonous apple and discover our true selves, naked, alone and afraid of our own empty shadows.
She was my lover until she realized she was fucking below her station and left me with my dick in my hand and a sketch book full of charcoal memories of someone else’s happiness.

Charles Cicirella


Saturday, June 09, 2018

Modern Day Job (Wasabi Lawyer)

The drugs I’m taking for my back are wiping me out.
I’m a space cadet looking for a suitable planet to call home.
If you’re going to be a tried and true artist you must sacrifice everything.
This isn’t some romantic notion or ploy to entice someone into a bear trap.

Everything is a chore as life is presented to me as a coat of arms and I fight the unreality of being boxed in or hugged by a Westworld robot.
Let’s stop the chit chat and get down to the reality of a one-two-punch and being laid out like an action painting or catalog not even worth wiping your ass with.
Fuck power and money and the secrets shared behind closed doors by very small individuals who have no empathy whatsoever or concept of what is truly real versus what’s virtual reality.

I have never felt comfortable in the shower. Are there directions on how to properly wash oneself?
Too much slight of hand and orifices just out of reach. I feel like it’s a game of tic-tac-toe I’ll never win.
I thought Dr. Oz was exposed as a fraud and the Tinman was just another anti-hero looking for a protagonist to take advantage of.

So much shit flying everywhere, not sure I’ll ever feel at peace again.
The terrorists won, inducing fear into our baby talk and every other mode of conversation including pig Latin and psychobabble.
You want the truth? Well I’ll tell you the last time I husked the truth I was on another planet where everyone dressed alike and that metallic taste in your mouth meant you were home sweet home.

Charles Cicirella