Wednesday, February 20, 2019

“POWER TO THE HAW” (For Julia)

Soaking up your moisture
I know you are wet
By the Titanic look in your kosher ham and cage-free eyes

There’s no desperation in your DNA and why would there be
When you’ve always tested drug free and still believe in magic
I swear I once witnessed unicorns gallop out of your perfect tuchus

The portrait of you is American Gothic after a walk on the wild side of self -determination and self-empowerment
It’s raw like an unlicked postage stamp and the power of the purse is everything it’s cracked up to be with a slice of pie thrown in for good measure
I’m always torn between the banana cream and coconut cream and I wish someone would join the two together so my divided loyalties could finally be reunited

Steering into the flesh strokes of your portrait extraordinaire I admire the painter for their rude genius and how it interrupts your self-loathing in volcanic cracks of rod and switch
It’s a dreamscape of fever and slave driver faded out as political correctness attempts to erase our tortured oxymoron selves
I refuse to hang out with anyone, these days, unless they’ve seen both Annie Hall and Rosemary’s Baby

Charles Cicirella

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