Sunday, September 20, 2020


These are the words
Without malice
Without forethought

The poetry arrives or it doesn’t
Like a photo negative
Or a litmus test with no conscience

You gotta grease the wheels
In these Modern Times
Of refuse and reprimand

I was unprepared for her purgatory come-ons
They came at me like De Niro in Raging Bull
I love a good movie, but I’m no film auteur

These are the notes
Without complaint
Without hesitation

The poetry arrives on its own terms
Like a picture in your mind
Or a pop quiz you mustn’t prepare for

You gotta leave the driving to someone else
In these times of virus and vitriol
It’s all in the game when you’re infected on the Vegas strip

I wasn’t ready for the way he used the words so honorably
His voices came at me like an impassioned starling or La Charity on a tear
I love a good beatnik, but I’m no master thief.

Charles Cicirella

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