Friday, October 12, 2018

“You're giving me cheesy grins.”

Just ate a doughnut
Raspberry jelly covered my fingers
It was an Immaculate Conception sugar high

No reason to resist
Either you’re on top or pulled beneath the non-fiction waves
The way she read Russian literature out-loud passionately turned the key in my coil-on-plug ignition system

Art was never a mere past-time I could pick up and put down like collecting stamps or shrunken heads
It not only defines who I am as a person, but it keeps a light on so when I get lost I can always find my way back home
Katie Boyd is the only Road Atlas needed when I desire to break new ground and lasso the moon

The doughnut sits on my stomach like a space invader who is tired of probing and wants to instead make friends with their next hapless victim
I love how Spielberg paid homage to Truffaut by hiring him for Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Jules and Jim would have been thrilled to know their creator was still working after all those years

Flirting with this Scottish lass is as close as I’ll ever get to true providence
Kat understands the writing as a calling and not some objective torture test lessening no one’s load by piling on the hyperbole and vectors of transmogrified speech
I write what my fingers feel as my daydreams peel off their lemonade clothes and take a dip in pools of saltpeter
I ordered room service and when my room arrived I knew it was too small to change my mind

Let’s stop pretending any one of us is going to get out of here alive
Morrison knew full well what Rimbaud had proven centuries before that being a word-man was just as limiting as being a bird-man and running guns gets you no further out of the rat race
I may eat another doughnut or I may just curl up into a ball and allow the fetal position to take hold as embryonic fluid fills my ears and my mother comes for a short visit

Charles Cicirella

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