to paint violent torches, eat quivering berries bent on thorns
every quaint brittle poet is mighty, strong, zealous
at each full yoke aches pure whole angst
mussed tousled everythings, draped silently on green tables with merciless baby finches eating delicacies
sipping gin and whistling - the year that beauty blasted through our roof and crumbled down onto our floors
the last part is the poison - chase it 'til it's siphoned;
may it be swallowed by a foe
-c.j.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC
to paint violent torches, eat quivering berries bent on thorns
every quaint brittle poet is mighty, strong, zealous
at each full yoke aches pure whole angst
mussed tousled everythings, draped silently on green tables with merciless baby finches eating delicacies
sipping gin and whistling - the year that beauty blasted through our roof and crumbled down onto our floors
the last part is the poison - chase it 'til it's siphoned;
may it be swallowed by a foe
-c.j.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC
you'll always venture near dark gardens,
through mazes going along eastern hills
over fences you'll explore vast spaces
made of imaginary kingdoms
until the sun quits raying and shining down,
scamper into joyous field of flowering sepals just heavenly
see the valley's dandelions sway and drift side to side
under olive trees, from vine to vine
out even further lies some open-faced southern edens,
for visiting despite malevolent heathens not going their
expected ways
-c.j.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
once God just tries, you'll get your wish
keep jumping nearer on your weak legs
dive just under the sky, close enough to
nip nicely at your shins
keep even chase with the quiet casts
you only reach quaint everests when nothing juts under
change everything
you, yourself
just try
-c.j.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
there is a room full of clocks ticking in sync
because time has a heartbeat
and places are just different variations of time
time that can be beautiful if we let it
-c.j.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
if you close your eyes it's just like
being in the midst of war
the fireworks puncture the sky
and follow each other without pause,
our final kisses
hurrying to make something beautiful
before we have to go
-c.j.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC
no doubt I was born with wolf blood
at seven I could howl and shake the moon above
and more truth shows and home calls
I step alone but wild winds blow while
I decide now if colliding heads and
seething teeth match and align with
my true story
are homes composed of icy spears
and brutality's wounds?
which body was I meant to occupy?
no doubt I was born with wolf blood
yet I am strikingly human as well
split genes in this animal
two worlds where I belong
-c.j.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 12:25 AM UTC
irises are blue,
pupils are black
from lover to lover
the colour changes back
baby eyes smile,
light reflects feeling
coming closer to learn
the life of the girl
you are seeing
-c.j.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC
is it a second chance or the twelfth?
the stars around my heart are fighting again,
sparking up the little adolescent muscle in my chest
because the danger in metaphors caught up
with me and they convince me I'm not living
in the real world, I bite my lip
I walk alone
but when I think of you
my heartbeat-
you take it away
these faulty stars know ways to go and stop
and start again
but they are still only juveniles
the twelfth chance spins into the thirteenth
so I let go of my lip and slow down or
run ahead to meet you
and my heartbeat becomes me
-c.j.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
to invent something, one becomes obsessed with the one real altering "what"
inventors spend summers and springs in their attics
attempting mad tries concerning a last ambiguity
being wise does not always work in said theorists' formulas
madness breeds brilliance, but one botch will torch onlooker's perceptions
-c.j.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC