Autobiomaniacal
JCD Kerwin

They call me Mista Jazz
‘cause I sparkle with all the razz-
le dazzle and the speed you wouldn’t believe
Speed Racer never tried to beat.

I’m a picture-perfect stately heir,
so debonair with an austere air,
as I straighten up my tie that lies
in strict conviction that I’m better than I am.

I’m a fly guy—
a pussy cat you can pet, you bet,
if you get past my clicking claws.
I’m a dandy Sam, a Dapper Dan,
who watches winding watches ticking in my hand
just to manage something
left behind by a more worthy human.

I’m not the best that you saw;
I’m just a jackass behind the walls
of the jail I created from the fables
I tried to make you understand.
I am an arrogant little prick who licks
my wounds when something doesn’t go right
in the perfect little world I created
with words meant to water down the lies.

And I broke the hearts that wanted mine,
that I never took the time
to bother with because I wasn’t
ready to love someone far more deserving than I.

(Don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror;
can’t comprehend why Blue thinks that I’m a winner.
Makes my heart feel like melting ‘cause
I’m just a worthless windup wretch
who grasps at bones to make myself feel better ‘bout
the mutt I spy in puddles.)

I’m just a wannabe in words,
a whore of language, left languished
on a stuffy mattress eaten out by lice.
Will never be a puppet poet master or
a fury fiction maker like the gods
who line the dusty shelves of libraries in my mind.

Can’t hurt to try,
to get by,
twisting words around like acrobats on wires.
Perspire—mix water droplets on my head with blood I burn in fires—
as I try to climb the catacombs of courage
I buried down inside.

I’ll try to fly,
to spread wings broken back in time,
and see if words can hold the meaning I always
thought they did, in dormant domino lines.

To wait for the kick is just to stall,
so I take the buck and crawl
away into the sky…

My wings might melt in fire but
at least Blue wings will catch me
when I fall.

(December, 2011)