“Burning” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019


How challenged are we?

Not able to find ways out.

A niggling curiosity.

Prurient in nature.

Pins and needles.

I dream a thousand fantasies,

And thirst for your unbrushed kiss.

Where I can taste the life on your mouth.

Desperate hands,

Revealing and coaxing into position,

Our portions,

body and soul.

The tears are salty,

And mix with delight,

Lost, moments of exquisite pleasure.

Our secret.

Eyes locked,

Fingers and palms entwined.

Slow at first,



Pliable yield.

Envelope of wetness.

Urging urgency on.

Mouthy breaths and more repetition.

More, more.

A new connectedness,

And energy.

Fallen into your event horizon.

No, pulled.

Gravity inescapable.

I jumped willingly.

Staunch plunge.

No escaping the funnel vortex.

Happy sweet bittersweet sadness.

Infinite want.

Proceeding onward.



Can’t go back.

Arrived in height and satiety.

I feel you, and hold you.

Deep within,

We touch places unseen.

Until the world melts away.

I find resurrection.


Ready to dwell.

My new pleasure,

Tied unto yours.

And I burn for it.

Every single minute.


“Tortilla Alchemy”

“Doritzees” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2019

“Tortilla Alchemy”

What devilry is this?

Tortilla chip enhancement,

Cheesish powder fingertips.

Empty bag disappointment,

Spread out on wax paper.

Only jagged crumbs are left,

The perfect snacking caper.



“Perceptions” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019


Greasy charcoal crayon rendering depth on a page.

Pulling form from the invisible event horizon.

Coaxing details into existence.

Something from nothing.

A shuffling of dried and smudged papers,

Some within an oblong carrying case.

All but that one picture;

The one with spilled coffee and rings.

My secret being: that was the absolute best I could have ever done.

But, artistic propriety doesn’t allow viewing.

People might mistake my intention,

And we can’t have that.

Even in art.


“Drawing Down, Dead Down”

“Drawing Down, Dead Down”

Back at Christmastime,

I dined at midday,

On the winter solstice,

With my work colleagues.

We wanted Ramen,

But, begrudgingly settled for pub fare due to long lines at the Ramen place.

Pubs provide listless people lists of listless choices.

I chose the Shepard’s Pie,

infused with lamb protein.

When choosing from a listless list,

Authenticity seems important.

At least, in that moment.

But, fuck, it falls flat.

Just another pretentious misadventure,

Whereby, my dish provides all discomfort and no comfort.

The meat tasting as if simmered in a Dutch Oven with flakes of junkyard rusted automobile bodies.




Not my best chew.

Thank Christ for the bread. Slathered with as much butter as a teensie-weensie butter basket can provide.

Next year,

I’ll wait in the Ramen queue for however long it takes.


“You Put The Seattle In Sleepless”

“You Put The Seattle In Sleepless”

Sobering sobriety tugs at the ease of rest.

All the dominoes are set out,

Well, almost.

All it takes is the slightest wrong move,


You will need to set out to reset the tipped over bricks.

All over again.

That’s why it pays to be careful.

On the other hand,

It sure can be fun watching all the dominoes fall.