Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Controlling Everything Around You While Ultimately Giving Up Control (For Terry P.)

Standing the test of time is for pussies
I’m sorry for uttering the P-word
There’s no excuse for that under any circumstances

I smell oatmeal
Steel-cut and priming to be our savior
I’ve always favored Aunt Jemima over Uncle Ben, call me a feminist
I move from one poem to the next like a marauder whose best marauding days are behind them

Expected shelf-life is for wimps
I’m sorry for uttering the W-word
It’s inexcusable in these torrid times of weaponized hatred

I turned my head and saw you, eyes closed, deep in the poetry-jazz wafting around us like cherubs in assless chaps puffing on refer cigarettes
You’re so cool I cannot help but think of the Fonz before he jumped that shark and started to push reverse mortgages on an unsuspecting public 
Why can’t we as a species be happy with what we got and not be so greedy and full of black ink?

Let’s duck out back like two guys who were smart enough not to tangle themselves up in some spiritless movement
I like hearing you read and enjoy reading when you’re in attendance because I know that at least one person is listening with their chakras wide open
We were riding on a tandem bicycle, can’t recall who was in front and who was doing all of the work in the back, but the one thing I do remember is how easy you are to talk to no matter the mountains standing tall before us or the open expanse we float through like weightless chimpanzees

Charles Cicirella

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