Saturday, October 16, 2021

There was only Jim.

Whiskey Priest
23 years he has been gone
Clown assassin, repo man of our nightmares

Never known anyone who burned as hot
He recognized my passion as we lit each other on fire
Pyromaniac artists instilling the truth in anything and anyone who would listen

I was sleeping in the studio on Maynard when Jim opened the door with a flaming curtain over his arm
When I asked what was going on he said it’s no big deal so I went back to bed
Half of his room was soot and the bathtub was never the same, but we survived like game of sport cadavers have a tendency to do

Came up on the Comfest stage with me and expounded on how he inherited nothing
That was just a few years before he laid the cash on the desk and hung himself for someone else’s sins
The white jeep turned out to be beige and the girl in the poppies was not really dead, she was only sleeping like femme fatales oftentimes will

There was only Jim, that’s it and then poof he was gone like a dandelion puff in the action painting splattered wind
So many try and jump on his bandwagon, but he only allowed a few of us to see behind the mask and I’d tell you what was there, but then I’d have to kill you
23 fucking years and for anyone who believes I’m beating a dead horse I get that because you never really got him to begin with.

Charles Cicirella

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