Crack Caffeine
JCD Kerwin
the coffee here
should be called
“water with flavoring.”
but
i guess i don’t care;
addicts will often
buy shitty product.
(Sept. 2014)
Tag Archives: coffee
PONGO
coffee and rain by ozlm on Flickr
PONGO
JCD Kerwin
the image
of a cup of java
(black-brown,
a hint of vanilla,
and steaming in just
the right
kind of swirls)
might seem
rather cliché,
but it’s the best way
i spend an afternoon,
hidden deep
in couch cushions,
and tapping my foot
to Frank Wes
and Miles Davis.
the water droplets
on my windowpanes
agree:
nothing cliché
about jazz rain.
(April, 2014)
Crumbs of Caffeine
Black coffee by Erik Witsoe (www.facebook.com/ErikWitsoePhotography)
Black, cinnamon flavored
JCD Kerwin
I imagine I’m drinking you, as if you’re made of the magic I find in bottomless cups of bitter black at six a.m. when I’m in Zombieland. I remember you as every bold drop plays against my tongue. I remember the way your eyes looked like saucers; dark brown, brown-black, blackish black: eight o’clock irises. I drink you in the mornings when birds want me to smile; I drink you late at night when moonlight begs me to dream.
I will make memories of you crumble like coffee cake.
(June, 2013)
Tossing Back Cliches and Caffeine
Skitzacaine
JCD Kerwin
I’m subtle. Like a heart attack.
When I’m on a mission,
I’m as invisible as
an elephant on the subway.
I’m riding high, like
I’m snuffing cocaine and
soaring with wings made—
of iron.
Shit.
I fall faster than my stocks.
I almost wish I hadn’t wished
for the super dose of power
to turn me into Superinfiniteman.
Wish I hadn’t drunk the Kool-Aid and
pumped my thighs full of incrediroids
like all the other ’bots who can’t get
through the day without a pick-me-up.
I thought I wasn’t like them.
Thought I didn’t have to be.
Thought I could finish a dream without
kicking off my socks
and falling out of bed.
But I’m just another mannequin
with a pacemaker.
(May, 2013)
Nomads for Change
Homeless Homonym
JCD Kerwin
My heart beats in another shade of red and
in some other dimension I think
I’m sipping coffee
as a blonde
with a grin as wide
and bottomless
as the mug I must be holding.
Music notes
make my eardrums explode
here.
Over there
maybe they make
me see
symphonies of color.
Over there maybe the mess of mush
slopping against the white hard clay
holding my eyes in place
is where I can become
a permanent fixture
in words I put to paper.
put
words
to
paper.
Magic marker paper maker.
I’m the Maker
of legends and dimensions and
somewhere else I think I might
be someone who is free.
I grow nauseous at the sight
of robots.
I’m not sure they know
they’re blinking just the same
as each other.
I want to vomit inside out
and disappear in music notes
made into
India Ink.
Story Time can become Reality TV
for me.
I’d like to be
that Reality TV star.
Nov., 2012
J.C.D. KERWIN 