Monday, October 18, 2021

Boobies (A Love Poem)

Ode to a Scottish lass who revs my engine like no other.
I haven’t driven a car since I was nineteen and even though people think I’m weird my global footprint can eat theirs for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
She’s as fresh as a daisy if daisies refused to surrender even under the most extreme of William Shatner conditions.

I wish space would have kept him then Nimoy could have had the last laugh.
He was only good in that episode of The Twilight Zone and that’s only because he didn’t have much dialogue.
It’s time to reverse engineer capitalism and cease and desist from killing people simply because they’re attempting to pay their bills.

In 2002 my survival instinct went belly up and I think it had something to do with 911 or maybe I’m just saying that so I can pretend I’m a victim like Monica Lewinsky.
You know the world is coming to an end when it turns out Ghost Dad is a serial rapist and what’s even crazier we’re supposed to feel sorry for him.
I’m tired of people laughing at the wrong shit especially when the worst you can say about Pryor is he shot his car and oh ya lit himself on fire.

I desire to make love to Kat with full sentences and perhaps we can even bring a dictionary along in case I get tired and need backup.
She is the syrup on my hotcakes and the butter on my bread. I know I need to start eating better and that all these processed foods will kill me before even an assassin’s bullet locates my soft spot.
I may have gone too far and I hope that’s not the case because if I alienate Kat not sure what I’d do other than cry in my root beer and act all surprised like a sloth that cannot get their bearings.

Charles Cicirella

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