I
can write about you until I am blue in the face
It
comes so naturally it scares me like monsters under the bed or undrunk beers,
left on the counter to get warm and pithy
There
you were. Nearly levitating off the ground like a magician’s assistant or a
guru who knows their shit and refuses to push it down someone’s throat like a
big orange carrot or an unbaked religious canon that never quite forgives
anyone
Do
I stay or do I go?
Do
I continue to plumb the depths of my mind and pray streams of consciousness
shoot from my fingers like magic boogers or lightning bolts that Zeus himself
would be jealous of?
It’s
2:25 AM. I’m about to watch the last episode of You Me Her. Third season and if you’ve never watched it its quite
good and never fails to put a smile on my face, when I cannot seem to pick
myself off of the floor and my heart just won’t stop beating like Ringo’s bass
drum
Grand
gestures and rom-coms have never done much for me and yet they still make me
grab for the box of tissues that’s just out of reach and unwilling to commit to
a good, hard blow
I’ve
fought against convention all my life and that goes thrice when it comes to
whatever gainful employment is and a significant other that you discover is not
quite the right fit at the most inopportune moment
I
know I’m walking a fine line and I best never use my art as an excuse to duck
out of making the difficult choices
Till
death do we part or impart the wisdom we wouldn’t wish upon our worst enemy and
yet is the only thing that makes any actual sense
You
see me for who I am and see through the opaque me that shows up when everything
has become too abstract to properly digest or plow through like a John Deere with
ADHD
Katie
Boyd you possess the wisdom and the moxie to know when to dance beneath the
moon and when the wolves are on the hunt. You stun me like a Taser that never
runs out of juice and keeps me both alive and dead and for some strange reason
that works for me like gangbusters
Charles Cicirella
9/16/18 
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