The Catalina Panoramas - Poems/Photos / by D.M. Jerman

Shiver to swat me like a fast fly. Got my ass but I’ll recover. Put away the old mania and its bored cognition. Wait for me to land, then go for the top. I have a plan that will steam your shirts. It takes the weak secret, makes a perfect binding for the mess. Wait, let me get hot before this comes off. Shout out to people feeling beautiful right now.


Good morning and luck. Let me reach for you in this light like where I once did. Vandalism and other expectant mothers go flocked of lower worlds while we play. And we’re not loose yet of skin or future abasements. Look whose hear claims form. Your voice a series of whispered triple sevens and mined in the dark seepage of a lung. Taking care to blanch bets.


Birthday kid. Put on your own candlelight. How much is that sorry in the window? It’s a wish to have a lovely effort. Electric samsara brings me to that place of peace. A little smile and a lean one way beside the blue. There there, their there. Pleasing and fervent and patient and fluffy. You’ll get one, though I don’t know now just how.

Anything helps. Even helplessness. Not always a blessing but scored with possible power. I don’t have an arm to think with. I’ve spared all the teeth too like change in the bowl or the bucket begging to be a better book or dogfood. Dish me out some sorry some other time. I’m here to look and tell all of it back to myself later.

So long new years wish or a blown kiss. I can taste the dirt in the thaw. Its a bus stop life and no one stops to pick up strangers any more. Much light lives in the quest for cracks. Do your boots a favor when you come on over and take them off. I wanted that house, didn’t you? The one we get our best years from. Squeezing the backyard tree until blood comes out. Maybe it’s your blood. Maybe it’s just your friends pouring beer on you to stop the fire. It's all you have.

Junk or jewels? Black falls over the wild and delicate light. Like a mane or a stepped-on blossom, I realize what it is my turn to retrieve. The cloak, the link, the soft shield in sanguine, the uninterpreted banquet. Greedy steps spill too early toward the afterlife. What now to hinge on the year? Just rest, and see. Met out for delicious capture is the artful wave of time.

Tired of your goddamn maniac kiss. Tired of fragmented juju sweeps near the butthole. I sit by the door and that’s my job. Hogging the whoopseydaisey. Leaking all over a perfectly fresh midnight. Clogging every drain with sadsack poetry. Oooh but you make me mad the way you talk and don’t give me any subtle perfections. Did you forget your passwords for the day or your money? You are like describing an eye from the side.

The heart never truly quits. Sparks from your ring out are punched holes in my combed corridor. Shadows at my window. Anomalies flowers lending me a deep laugh. Come here if you can come. Play shelter without strictness or surprise. I’ll grow more teeth and show you my rather-than. Sorry is not a warning.


I eat my sleep. So help me. Any knotted angel tests my upholstered basement mind. Can you fly into my neon quarter? Please, I need your will to demolish bad black loops. Will earthen November relinquish our gutted emeralds long enough for us to spitshine them back to a gin-soaked lustre? Tell me flayed folders hiss open sticking paper meat and remember our hearts at last.