Conversation (Maynard) from Poetry Autopsy by Charles Cicirella & Friends

CONVERSATION (MAYNARD)

(J) To formulate a single thought and magnify it by 20-fold is to understand that which makes suffering quantifiable. As if to figure into it the very consequence by which a switch works. Turn on, turn off.
One then begins to clearly take note of an event and further events which are life changing. One must never disregard the power of enlightenment at any level of understanding.

(C) Walk the rugged mile. Donuts are covered in the whitest, powdered sugar he could find. Maybe even a chocolate one or two. And for this love, I pray it's covered in the most precious gems and given him a peace of mind and heart he deserves like thirsty crops deserve God's most refreshing rain.

(J) The terrain had changed. We were all fair game. We were moved by the movement that the rear view gave. In a Chinese hat with a baseball bat, I beat you down. I'm tired now. In a sparkle suit, in the boiler room, in a fake gray lake that the French all ate.
In the sparks of the wheel, you found the real deal. Mild mannered skeptical gaze, a career girl juiced in a psychotic age. Fate will be kind to you as you leap from the roof, and God will come and clear the room.
And her old man showed up with a belt and a gun, and we gassed up the car.

(C) The desert came, she was radioactive, you were transfixed by glowing bees that the transistors saved. In a diamond mine with a football helmet, in gold lame, on a road of miles, atop a planets face, that the druggist laced through treads of radial.
I tripped again, Coke, Dick, latent oppression. A friendly dwarf, jaded through and through. Destiny will be good to you as you cling to the frozen wall, and God will come and set up the pieces again.
And your brother made the rounds with a dull razor and self-adhesive tape. We gassed up the UFO.

(J) The host was wearing a sparkle suit, and Teresa was ensconced in the lily pads. The terrain had changed, but we'd shot up a flare. The desert was quiet, and Teresa was bare.

(C) Nothing to prove. She has absolutely nothing to prove. And the alarm was turned low because the fix up, fix it, fix up, fix up guy lived next to a Dairy Queen and not a train, and the asteroid women sedately made waves with performance boys with red receivers for ears. The flare did no good because everyone was conditioned to ignore the apocalypse. Lily pads hid no grief, and Teresa went home with a thief who frequented, frequented, frequented Don Pablo's.

(J) At 5:35 am, yeah, 4 mil anyway, I was on the net, and it informed me that the host was not responding. I got a bit worried, but the thoughts of Teresa in the pomegranates wilted the very dream of Tristessa crossing the border.
It's not a lot, but a good seaman could take care of the babe and take her to Jersey. The terrain had indeed changed. Small breasts at 5 bucks each, and though I'm here for the first set, my compadre is snoozesville.
They swore that they would bring the car around tomorrow. John Sayles will be present and will be handing out Matewan stickers. Feel lucky it's Victoria, MC2, and if Susan shows up, Albert's Hall can take a day off.
The rank strangers are close by. The tour bus is hovered.

(C) Apricots frozen, tapping on pane. The taste of sand in our mouths. At this point civilization was a joke. All's swell on the lunar scape and all may rise for Sister Ray Teresa.
The least we can do is make sure you're tucked tightly in and pray the lions do not pass into the ether perimeter. Atop shocking pink triangles of terrain, we sip whiskey out of tarnished goblets. When and how he made it through without alerting Leonard our little transpired and sweating secret.
His mother's condominium has moved.

• Charles Cicirella
• Jim Shepard
• Spoken Word
• charlespoet
• poetry
• poetry and music
• Cleveland