Toilet Paper
JCD Kerwin
I used to think
poetry
had to be
made of perfect,
pocket-sized
lines,
ready to be ingested
and shat out
like neat rows
of rosebuds.
Now,
I realize
there’s nothing
to a poem
except
the filth you pull
from inside
and smear
across
the page.
(June, 2014)
thrift store holes
JCD Kerwin
things
could happen
to make the story better
and i
could also
wear sweaters in winter
to prevent
a cold
or.
i could
look like a badass
pretending the ice
doesn’t really
sting
my skin
(June, 2014)
shitcakes for breakfast
JCD Kerwin
just think:
the more i take
all the hate
and crush it down inside;
the more i let the shit
drip to my chin;
let smiles and grins
cover me in waves,
the more it adds
to the day
i will bubble,
blister, fester,
until finally i’ll
explode and splatter.
(June, 2014)
I’m not a fan of this cop-out rhyming “i” with “by” but I was on a roll at the time. I’ll go back to it…in several months, as seems to be my style.
One, Two, Buckle in my Knees and fall
JCD Kerwin
i tap the sidewalk crack
harder and harder,
hoping to hear the snap
in my own back;
maybe i’ll twist, contort;
become a grotesque sideshow
for passersbys
as they flit on by,
while i
watch my coffee
pool sadly
and flood anthills.
(April, 2014)
Moment in Time Sand Castle Wave, from http://www.kinhthanhmoingay.com
RockybumCoast
JCD Kerwin
Building all these sand castles
only scares
the horseshoe crabs
who have to take
the long way ‘round.
The glittery walls
are something fun
for ocean waves to swallow.
(They might’ve looked
like stone to us;
they fall
like rock to sea.)
I’m not much of a builder;
I like to play the day
based on what pancakes
to chow.
Blueberry or plain?
(What goes best with almond milk?)
I’m enemies best buddies
with the monster inside of me,
so I don’t need
to fight anything more
on solid ground.
Got enough choices to make
while looking in the goddamn mirror.
Don’t know how
to make the me I see
much better
for the people
who seem to think
I should be better.
(All I wanted was a pen and paper,
and to maybe make
the words last longer
than markings in beach mud.)
This whole damn thing
seems so much faster;
the hourglass really tipped over.
My pages turn by
like I’m not who’s writing
my own story.
I should throw the book into the waves
and let it fade in a soggy grave
with castles made of sand.
(April, 2014)
J.C.D. KERWIN 