Wednesday, July 31, 2019

This is not a memory.

Sometimes I’m afraid of nothing and it’s reflected in everything I don’t say.
We have all these totems and myths to signify what’s most meaningful when in reality they’re not worth the stone they’re carved into.
The Egyptians took everything with them when they shuffled off this mortal coil and so would you if Elizabeth Taylor had portrayed you in a movie.

I must decide if getting up to take a shit is worth the effort or if I should just stay blocked and rue the day I ate that pastrami and chopped liver sandwich on challah.
Feel like we were taken advantage of because we took our eyes off the ball and allowed sentiment to lull us into a false sense of surety.
Just because the world judges us don’t mean they’re on the right side of history or that the golden rule adds up to anything more than sticks and stones grinding the bones of another poor bastard into dust.

My mother went after my brother with a wooden spoon and my brother turned the tables and took the spoon away from her.
She was, of course, surprised and fearful Stephen had finally snapped, but I believe there was a small part of her that was relieved she no longer had to carry that load.
I’ll never forget when we went to see The Champ and my brother pretended he wasn’t crying as my mother handed him a box of tissue on the sly and he played it off like there was something in his eye.

Sometimes I dread everything and it’s mirrored in every made-up memory I commit to.
We have all these mascots and saints to prop up our dwindling spirits when hope has been vanquished and even the great patriots have stopped saluting the flag.
No matter if you slice the rye bread or not the Jews are the Chosen people and there’s no disputing that, no matter how many pairs of magic underwear you wear or collection plates you pass around in the name of God.

Charles Cicirella

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Cuddle Universe (For Kat)

Every Beatles song was written with her in mind
Even the ones you can’t kill to
There was a blueberry hill and that’s where I lost my thrill

Pat Gunn has built my last two desktops
He’s always proven to be smarter than the AI he’s studying
He takes direction like he was born in the theater

I have a headache, but it’s my own damn fault
Some pot goes down easy while other strains make you choke and take generic Advil
I’m gonna wait before I jump to the conclusion this pot needs to be returned to sender
Shady deals in some rural outpost where inflatable swans float by like marshmallow clouds. I can’t stop choking, might be time to call the paramedics or a reformed Rabbi

I desire to slide into her like a bookmark or the pointed tip of a tailor’s very sharp needle
Milton Berle had a horse cock and used to fuck Marilyn Monroe like a bowl of red borsht at The Russian Tearoom around noon and after eight o’clock
I don’t know why I’m mentioning that other than I’ve been trying to fit his horse cock into a poem for what seems like decades now

Back to Kat Boyd and her astronomic wavelength, transmitting only to the rain dogs who believe in universal healthcare for all animal, vegetable and plant life
I slipped on a banana peel and instead of laughing we made pudding from our tears
I was too lazy to pick my own blueberries so instead I ordered a short stack of blueberry pancakes and pretended I was once a captain of industry

Charles Cicirella 

Sunday, July 28, 2019


Back of the car coming back from Amish country when I got the text
His guy had come through and he could hook me up tomorrow before the stone setting
Waiting for the man can be a dubious affair; it can also be the only thing that exceeds expectations when your whole life is one car crash after the next

Escaping reality these tortured days is a prerequisite to protecting the light that is our soul
Everything is a drug so it’s best to do the good drugs because waiting around to die only proves beyond fruitless in a Townes Van Zandt soundscape of shit kicking cowboys and the bareback mountains they’re afraid to climb
I tell people my inner child is a monkey and they always laugh because they don’t seem to get how much truth I’m spilling as another phoenix goes up in smoke

My art has saved me from a life of doldrums and lethargy, but it’s best not to envy me because I too often live hand to mouth as I await the creativity to kick in and transport me from this labyrinth of sleep and PTSD
You want to know the truth well I can only disclose so much at any given time as I daydream about Kat Boyd walking down the Glasgow streets
When I’m in the grips of a writing jag there’s no better high and as I await my next poetic journey lighting the pipe and listening to the Gods in my head keeps me spry and in fighting shape

I’ve known him since high school and he never fails to astound me with how laid back he is in a crisis of conscious and twisted steel
I like to think of him as the Godfather like Brando was once upon a time
Waiting for the next Lou record to drop because you cannot accept that he’s dead and in the meantime driving the spike in takes away some of the agony of having to wake up only to die all over again

Charles Cicirella

Tuesday, July 23, 2019


Every day I wake up and make a cup of NESCAFÉ® Clásico
It’s a routine like watching Jeopardy! or masturbating
Sometimes I misplace my purpose, but I always regain my sea legs before I need to resort to Dexedrine though don’t put it passed me to crush it up and snort it

“The world is turnin', I hope it don't turn away” Neil wrote that and I couldn’t agree more as the beach swallows up more of the coast and singer songwriters  go the way of apoplectic dinosaurs
Don’t forget to put on your galoshes as you wade out into puddles of blood and pushcart carnage
I am so sick and tired of the haves doing their damndest to eradicate the have nots and I am glad that the me too’s have begun to rise up and right so many king-sized wrongs

Weinstein, Rose, Spacey and the list goes on and on can go fuck themselves into oblivion as the people rise up to take back what’s rightfully theirs
The “rich and powerful” seem to think the world is their playground and their “celebrity” makes them impervious to right and wrong
We must draw a line in the sands of time and teach these demolition experts a thing or two or three thousand about how real people feel about being take advantage of for so goddamn long

Every day I wake up and seek out a flower to smell or a puppy to pet because I so desperately need to reconnect to the beauty and simple complexity of everything and nothing
Multiple shithouses are burning as the news from across the pond only fans more flames of incompetence and entitlement
Our civilization only has so much air left in its tires before we fall flat before our creators, begging forgiveness for all the wrongs that have been perpetuated in the name of vanity and self-aggrandizement

Charles Cicirella

Sunday, July 21, 2019

Smoking Resin

Two days smoking resin sucks, but that’s what happens when you don’t have two cents to rub together and no one will come to your emotional rescue
I have plenty to be thankful for including Nightingale saints who have more than helped me out when my electric light was growing dim
Still I crave more because I’m an American and I’m not really surprised with the current racist tinged situation we find ourselves in

Actually it’s not racist tinged because the apple never falls too far from the tree and when it’s a tree growing in Brooklyn forget about it
He was born with a stainless steel spork up his orange despoiled asshole
This could be the end of everything as a weak and insecure baby-man takes us down the rabbit hole because he cannot face the truth Pres. Obama is everything he is not

I want to get high not so much to escape reality, but to instead create my own reality and leave the Cowardly Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in the poppy fields
The music does what it can, which is quite a lot, and the artist is always prepared to strike a pose and give the finger to all the poser poets who think they’re so cool because they know how to Xerox
I was born kind then I began to unwind and before I knew it I had misbegotten my original wrapper

Let’s stop pretending we don’t deserve these just desserts, after taking the Native American’s land and giving them back nothing in return, but diseased blankets and losing mascots
Sometimes when I think no one is looking I stick a finger straight up my anus and rub it till its raw. It feels good and helps me to keep my eye on the prize, whatever that is
Still I crave more because one finger is never enough especially if you have the whole afternoon to yourself. My point is even broke asses deserve to get high

Charles Cicirella