Tag Archives: coffee

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11 June, 2015

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poetry, self-portrait, writing

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Three Bucks Out of Luck

Three Bucks Out of Luck
JCD Kerwin

I met God the other day,
on a Tuesday afternoon.
He was smoking French cigarettes
and drinking black coffee.
“What this meeting all about?”
I asked and sipped my own
liquefied Arabica beans.
“You’re right; you’re all damn fucked,
just like you thought you were.”
And then he laughed and put a pair of Oakleys
over two different colored eyes.
I watched him raise a pigeon from the dead
as he passed on down the sidewalk.
Once roadkill of taxis that didn’t give a damn,
now it bobbed and waddled in the muck
of our humanity.
“We’re all just fucked anyway.”
I played with the spoon on my saucer
and watched coffee droplets turn into constellations.
The Milky Way is only a figment of our imaginations—
Andromeda is one of a thousand daytrips we can take
anytime we’d like.
I tip the mug and watch the coffee pour.
I leave without paying because I know it doesn’t matter.
Three bucks and a dime aren’t worth a damn
when we’re all just fucked anyway.

June 2015

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2 March, 2015

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poetry, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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B-Side the Fire

Er, it was a dark day. O_O…

Also, ten billion points to whoever can guess where I got the title of the poem from! I’ll give you a hint, my favorite band is U2. :O

B-Side the Fire
J.C.D. Kerwin

I set the same song on reply.
I glue the button down
with blood and spit and tears
to make the track rerun because
right now (since how long, I can’t recall)
it’s been the only thing keeping me from
falling into vomit I am puking from my heart.
There are no words, just
the same acoustic refrain
as if it sends me far away
from whatever this
is supposed to be.
(“Reality,” they tell me.)

At least in my head,
I can’t get hurt and
I don’t wear a frown
quite as hard
as the PF Flyers
I’ve worn holes in.
I keep running but
I don’t know which way
to chase a daydream.
It’s like trying to catch the moon
at dawn.
I’m told we’re all
a little crazy,
a little sad,
a little weird and a little mad
sometimes.
But all I really am is desperate.
I just want to crack
these goddamn headphones in half
and climb inside the music notes
to find the Neverland I dream about
every time I close my eyes;
to see the faces that aren’t real
to everyone else but me.

I’d like to suck a couple drops
of caffeine nicotine and see
if an imaginary friend will come
skipping out to talk with me.
Perhaps he’ll reflect computer screens
and we’ll recite binary while
people think I’m drunk, but won’t
it be fun when I’m finally gone and free?
Oh how I wish this cord
led to a 4-D world instead of a little red
music box player that made me wonder
of perfectly imperfect impossibilities.

(January 2015)

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28 October, 2014

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misc, non-fiction, self-portrait, storyteller, writing

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ruMble junglE

ruMble junglE
JCD Kerwin

I like spaceships and caffeine
and I have no idea
what “normal” means.

I laugh at puns,
and think we’re overrun
with assholes.

My baseball hat
is part of my act
to be someone I am not.

Airplanes give me panic breath,
I always fear dark water depths,
and crowds make me very
nervous.

I can’t live without blasting
my ears full of tunes
because I think music,
can save me.

And if I may,
I feel the rain
is worth a hellavua lot more
than to ignore
with umbrellas.

I don’t think it’s wrong
to act along
with my favorite cartoons.

I’m quiet on the outside
but inside I hide
thunderstorms.

I hate talking on phones
and sometimes I want
to be left all alone.

I think maybe books
are the closest to Heaven
that I’ll ever be.

I always fear
what tomorrow brings,
but I still want to know
what’s around every corner.

I’m friends with monsters
hiding under my bed and
deep in my head,
calling to me in low whispers.

The light in the hall
is the only thing keeping
this dark world from creeping
into my heart.

I’d like to swing from stars,
and I often wonder
if Ray is happy on Mars.

I’m sure I dream too much
(I know there’s no such
thing as magic),

but maybe somehow, someday,
I’ll build a spaceship, and
sail far away.

(October 2014)

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23 October, 2014

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non-fiction, poetry, self-portrait, writing

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heart palpitations

Once upon a time I went through all these tests just to have this doc. say my arrhythmia is “normal.”…

heart palpitations
jcd kerwin

i think
my second cup
of coffee is
flavored with
abjection.
it reflects my thoughts and
the listless thumping of
my heart.

blasting tunes
is useless and
all these books
just make me hurt
for things that can’t be true.
i daydream instead;
i live in my head
to keep from drowning in
this world.

yet, there’s no running,
no hiding from
the faces and places
of my nightmares.
this caffeine only succeeds
in vanishing
anyway.

(October 2014)

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8 September, 2014

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poetry, storyteller, writing

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Bayoneting Sustenance

This is non-fiction, fiction.
…Figure that one out.

Bayoneting Sustenance
JCD Kerwin

I stay up all night,
watching the History Channel tell me about
all the presidents and what made them
(or didn’t make them)
a great leader.
It’s a marathon,
a marathon of watching me
grow more apathetic with every
click of the goddmaned
ticking machine.

(I hate that clock…
I guess I don’t care—
enough to get rid of the clock,
I mean…)

I live off coffee and cigarettes
like some teenage model with
anorexia.
But I’m content,
to thin, and
sink farther into upholstery.
Maybe by the time I emerge
as a tattered little butterfly,
the world will be long-gone.

Maybe I’ll find an unused stick
of cancer
buried in these cushions.
Worth a shot.

Or two.

(Sept. 2014)