Broken headphones by nessieblack09 (deviantART)
Shuffle and Replay
JCD Kerwin
Sometimes (a lot of the time),
my favorite part
of each day
is when I’m ignoring the world
with tunes.
Because sometimes (a lot of the time),
it’s nice to pretend
I’m not me
and I’m not really sitting here
at all.
(Sept. 2014)
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)
Flipphantomskip
JCD Kerwin
I want to twirl glow sticks
around my fingers and
dance all night
like a burning, shooting star…
And maybe I want
to draw on brick walls
with crayons
like I still see the world
covered in white paper.
Maybe I want
to play make-believe games,
laugh when I drink too much, and
have hangovers in meetings.
Maybe I want
to get a bunch of tats
because then I’d finally look
like what I feel inside.
Maybe I want
to chase down my dreams
for a few more turns
‘round the clock,
and not worry
where my next meal is coming from.
Because maybe I just
don’t give a damn about falling
when I try to fly.
Dec. 2012
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
Sometimes it feels as though you could stomp your feet and make earthquakes erupt from fault lines coming from your insides. Sometimes it feels like mountains in your lungs are crumbling into oceans, making sea foam turn into hurricanes. Sometimes you think if you were to open your mouth those hurricanes would escape your lips in a supernova. Sometimes you’re sure if you were to prick your finger, your blood would run India Ink instead of plasma red. And then suddenly, all at once, you realize someday you will, most certainly, burst into a thousand, shining letters because you are made of thundercane stories.
Also:
…because currently I’ve been replaying it fifty times on my mp3 player. I’m slightly tweaked like that.
I’m gonna go put my goggles back on and pretend I can fly.
J.C.D. KERWIN 