Plus what is enough? (a collaborative poem written by Juliet Cook and Charles Cicirella)

Plus what is enough? 

I didn't realize this fruit had fangs
until I bit in and swallowed.
I guess they're technically prickly spines
carved out of someone else's brain.
The x ray tech told me my veins were okay
but they only checked one part of my body.

I mean I can't even organize my own photos,
so let's not talk about the insides
of my screwed up head trying to coalesce
with the insides of someone else's.
Plus which your head can just fuck itself
if you're going to make fun of my other friends.


The Me Too Movement left me on the sidelines
somewhere between Hell and High-water.
And I’m not okay with that because I have a story
even though I choose not to tell it unless the lights
are out and I’m wearing my favorite pair of jammies.
There’s something to be said for discretionary spending.

I’m so tired of taking the higher ground and listening
to my better angels.
The better devils inside of me are kicking up a tumbleweed
tsunami and refuse to settle for their own Broadway musical.
I’ve listened long enough to the voices inside my head
and am pretty sure they don’t have my best interest at heart.


Sometimes I think pinking shears live inside my body
and I want to pull them out and cut off some of you guy's dicks.
Sometimes I think there's a lawnmower living inside my body
and I want to yank it out and cut off someone's eggplant shaped head.
In my dream a doll house is filled with tiny chainsaws aiming towards doll eyes.
In my nightmare I am the doll house filled with tiny dolls with chainsaws for mouths.

(you can listen to a reading of this poem on Charles' podcast here - https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/charlespoet/episodes/2018-10-27T10_34_54-07_00)

No comments: