My name is Jordan Kit and these are my words.

Pick up a copy of my collection of poetry and short stories, Ignoring the Mistakes

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La Cave Du Vine

The lights, the lights
So soft and warm
A kind touch in the dark
Soft tunes lazing
In the too hip atmosphere
Candles lit and votives out
How forgiving a place
The cigarettes are too much
But the beer is cheap
And how warm, how rosy my cheeks
Thinking of you
In the basement bar of Coventry
Of the things we did to one another
Thinking of
The lights, the lights

This is my penance

I have a tendency
to be a despot in love

this is something I did not know
until much too late

I overidealize
and I built you up to be
someone so much different
than who I fell for originally

worse, still
I overidealize myself.

perhaps more of a crime
and all the more regrettable

felt so damned sorry for myself
when I had an equal hand.

So, I’m sorry.

I’m not who I used to think I was,

you deserved so much better,

and it took the long way around to realize that.

Please remember the finer bits

and forgive me, 

for this is a penance,

and it’s all I have left.

The worst thing
a sailor can do to yeh,
is be perfectly honest.

On the whole,
a positive breed,
all “fair winds”
and “calm seas” to yeh.

But a sailor’s never worse
than perfectly true,
a level answer
and a true read.

What a life to lead
what a thing to be

To work aboard a ship

     The sun rose over the placid harbor. The tugs hadn’t left dock yet. Freighters were still chugging along at ten or so on the Canadian side. The single sound over all of the North Coast Harbor, save for the occasional squawk of gulls and slosh of minor chop against the starboard side, was the twist and click of the key turning tumblers and opening the stern gate to the GOODTIME III. Rubbing sleep and hangover from his eyes, he turned a new key in the door’s padlock and opened that, too. He strolled along the familiar deck. The same ragged carpeting he’d walked miles and miles upon. Up the forward ladder to the second deck, and doubling back toward the aft end of the ship. Looking out over the lake, he was disappointed not to spy any freighters coming in, or any expectant tugs waiting with the same patience and diligence for their laker as a loyal dog showed waiting for his master to return home from a long day of work. He walked to the aft stairwell and continued up another deck, and turned to his right to marvel upon the skyline so many take for granted. Burke Lakefront Airport, the Doubletree Hotel, The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Science Center, the Browns Stadium, and the William G. Mather. Just as quickly as he turned affectionately toward his city, he turned back as he had thousands of times. He strode the length of the deck and let himself into the pilothouse. He sat down in the captain’s chair, laid hand on the wheel, and looked out over the harbor with a keen eye.
     To do anything else in the morning, he thought, was such a waste.

a change

The things that once stirred him

fireflies blinking in the canopy of the tree line
the autumn smoke smell on that old red hoodie
beautiful girls in sundresses and sunglasses walking downtown
the sky reflecting green across the water’s choppy surface
cool rain on a warm day 

these things came to taste like ash
and all that mattered
was good friends and strong drink


That North Coast city of such
strange squalor and exuberance,
like a Detroit determined to
shuffle off the albatross.
My hub for so long, now the
beginning point of a new journey,
months of tragedy personal and otherwise,
coming to a head—got to flee!
and so headed West, my American
birthright cashed in on some
several pages of perforated tickets,
my currency for change,
first stop Denver by way of Chicago,
Omaha, myriad small towns and errant truck stops,
prefaced by the usual dreary
Greyhound station waits,
barely awake, some dread marionette hunched over,
watching the clock tick minutes away
waiting for the seemingly never arriving departure time
and it all ends in drinks as it ever does, 
over at Becky’s, famous  E 18th corner bar,
just down the way,
and oh lord, get properly swacked,
but spy the time and snatch my bag
bounce away
board the carriage
and away I go
from my home,

Black Market Lit— Take a peak at my latest published poem over here

My piece “Two dirty hands wash clean” appears in the inaugural issue of Black Market Lit, take a look!

skeleton dance

"But I thought…"
began so many
broken old hearts
discarded in gutters
by way of bus stops
glee gone with
the flick of a wrist
emotionless skeletons
clattering against one another
tangled at the hips
howling for
for a spark of warmth
like capturing a photograph
subject distilled into a past tense
as the future ceases to be

What is left where cracks form

A mouthful of sand
sharp all the way down
warm needles in the gut
broken glass from there

They never said
in all the Disney pictures
that sometimes this
is what the ending looks like

The weight of
their clothes
their habits
their ghosts

for always too long.


Are we not velvet
in the whiskey dawn
looking only for truth,
a relief from life’s
     rough edges—
a mortal coarseness
forgotten at our lips’ first
—hands on thighs thinking
are we not velvet?

Meditation #26

Give up
that which makes you strong
and you will become
even stronger.

The swordless warrior
placates the hordes.

In my dreams

In my dreams
the distance isn’t so terribly far
we get coffee in the mornings
make nice little breakfasts and dance in the kitchen
read on the sofa in the afternoons
go for long walks and talk till our minds are laid bare
enjoy music more deeply together than ever could apart
split a bottle of wine and watch the sun set slowly
fall tangled into bed together and only reluctantly drift off into sleep

because in my dreams,
life is finally so sweet,
that I don’t want to miss
a second of the real thing,
of you.

Meditation #25

Contemplative glances
out a bus window
pithy thoughts arising
in the early morning dims
heading westward always
a kind of American birthright
that boils the blood
into a frenetic shuffle seaward
and as the carriage stalls out
I don’t wait for the shuttle,
just keep walking
with nothing behind
nothing really ahead
thinking I’d end it all
if I weren’t so damn curious
about it all

Meditation #24

Luck in the age of entropy
a forgotten kiss
bequeathed among the weeds
in a way we used to speak
that we passed on to our kids
who lost it all the same.

Identity Series- Part One

This is part one of a series of posts in which I will try as best I can to explain myself as wholly as I can, and I’m going to do so in unedited, stream of thought rambles.

          I seem to always have the right words ready, except for when it comes to explaining myself. It’s been the same way for a long, long time. Some people have picked up on it better than others, some never do, lose interest, move along. The feeling of incongruity isn’t something you want to stew in. Perhaps this is even less than a misguided shout into the abyss, but I thought I’d try to lay bare as best I can some pieces of self.
          The biggest hurdle in the social sphere, is that I’m very internal. I’m a thinker, possessed by daydreams and reveries. Constantly mulling over ideas for stories, poems, idea I might never even use. I watch, I listen, and I soak in scenes because I’m genuinely interested in what might happen. Sometimes I don’t ask questions to things easily answered because I want to figure it out or pick it up through context. These are things I rejoice in. Everything interests me, and I find myself trying to figure it out and understand it. It sounds great when I say it like that, but to others I’m just quiet and anti-social.
          To compound things, I do value my time to myself. I like to go running alone. Exploring new cities alone constituted most of my trip out west. When things got out of whack and times were tough, I went into the parks or passed the hours at Coe Lake, alone. I am comfortable this way. I’m not afraid of silence, or anonymity, and I really do thrive in that meditative, solitary state. There’s something very zen about it, and it refreshes me deeply.
          So to sum things up so far, from a more external perspective, I’m anti-social, quiet, and hate hanging out with people. I get it. That’s a side that a lot of people will only ever see. But that’s not really the whole picture.
          I adore people. I really, really do. There is a fine line between alone and lonely, and I don’t like to cross it more than I have to. I value people that interest me, and there are people that draw me in like blood in the water, and I just have to know them. I’m always curious in the going-ons of my friends, of their misadventures, their weird fantasies, their personality flaws, their vices, the last sad thoughts before they go to sleep. They make me better, and I try to be there, and be loyal. Some of my friends are very damaged people, broken in the most important places, frayed at the edges, and I love them all the more for it.
          I’m not quiet all the time. Sure, I might not be as talkative as most people, but I’m not certain most people should be. I aim to be honest and genuine when I talk to people. I want to know more. I wait my turn. I listen deeply. I think of what I can do to help. I try to understand what you’re feeling, what motivates you. I’m congenial with everyone and can flit from group to group, but when it comes down to it, I surround myself with people I love, and want to know and spend time with, and that I want to be involved with, and that is where I’m in my element.
          Moving on, I have a really big weakness. I feel very deeply. It’s a part of that empathy bit. I fall in love very easily, in real, romantic, and lasting ways as well as fleeting every day share glance in passing kinds of ways. I spend so much time thinking about people and abstract concepts and emotions, that I tend to idolize people. This has been my Achilles Heel in some of the most painful times of my life. It wasn’t until I learned to pull back on it a little, that I realized how much I tried to look past peoples’ mistakes. I always looked past the bad to the good, and got bit more times than I’d care to admit. I’m the long relationship guy, and I’m also the guy that comes up on the raw end of the deal when they fall apart as they sometimes do.
          I’m a seeker. I don’t know what the meaning of life is, but I’m usually pretty good at figuring out what it isn’t. I’ve worked plenty of jobs, some that I could do till the day I died and feel fulfilled in some kind of way, but more often than not, I don’t feel fully satisfied in the depths of my soul. I need more. It’s not enough to make a lot of money. We all know that, but very few people ever pursue it. It’s espoused in so many movies, books, TV shows—you should do what makes you happy. Helping people makes me happy. Giving people opportunities to find their own happiness, that does it too. I feel that if I have the power to make things better, I should.

That is all for now. Tomorrow I’ll continue, but I wanted to get some of that on the table. I hope you’ll respond to this and perhaps take up the reins for yourself as well.