I’m stressed. Here; have a Kerouac-inspired poem.

Photo by…ME! HA.

411
JCD Kerwin

I was born of concrete and
scorching sun on black top.
Mothers swayed in doorways,
calling for
sun-tanned boys
to dine.

In another life.
Shit.

Tomato juice tastes sour
on
a hangover tongue leftover
from
3 a.m.

I’ll buy a git-tar,
and strum tunes
down the block
when it rains.
I’ll wear
a cowboy hat
and pretend I’m
Johnny
Cash.

It’s just a lie.
Shit.

The ceiling fan don’t work.
My t-shirt melts
like it’s
a second skin.
I’d walk ‘round nak’d, but
this ain’t
Tahiti.

That was a dream.
Shit.

Take a drag,
Have a
smoke.
Pass out on
Nothingness
again.

Shit.

May, 2012
Revised September, 2015