Ask him about the first time we met.
He will tell you,
eyes bright,
that I made him laugh
so hard
that his ribcage cracked open,
releasing a generation of butterflies
he kept hidden for so long
I may never know
who hatched them there.

Ask him about the songs I sing.
He will tell you,
in a familiar tune,
that I make pythons dance.
My vocal chords are marionettes
that turn ballerinas into puppets
whose feet never touch the ground.

Ask him about my bedroom.
He will tell you,
counting off of his fingers,
that the shelves are stacked and rickety
the vanities empty
and the lamp, a glowing green,
casts shadows of butterflies.
He will tell you that there are two broken clocks
under glow in the dark stars
and a table of sketches
eraser dust
and matchsticks.

Ask him about the sketches.
Ask him about the shelves.

Ask him about my poetry.
A muted mouth with a severed tongue will tell you
that there are hundreds,
written on the insides of my palms
But they've been caged fists
since my heart  first opened
and there is not a single joke
that could make me laugh
hard enough
to set free the crushed chrysalids
that I've been holding
since I discovered butterflies.

•

You are a really good fisherman,



And I am just but a foolish fish,




                                                       ­                      Preposterously bitten your hook,
                                                    With your bait of feigned love attached to it,
  



                                   Piercing it all the way to my heart,


                  Leaving me wounded with all of those prevaricates I've fell for,


But I don't know why,

                            I still love the feeling,

                                         That you've been jumping in gladness,

                                             That you've finally caught me,



Even though I was hardly breathing,

               'Cause you've taken  me away from the place,

                                  That makes me breathe and gives me joy.


                                 It somehow gives me relief,

                 Seeing the auspicious sun,

Brightly gleaming into my beautiful scales,

Not knowing it was just a start of a baleful Gehenna!




                    I should've known all along that it's just an entice!




                              But I am still blessed,


           'Cause I have manage to escape,

                                While damaging and harming myself in the process,


From the jailhouse that you've locked me in.




                                                      ­From then on,


              You've learned a lesson,


  

And use NET instead.



                       © Earl Jane
                         ♥ E.J.C.S.

The moon is now bright and full
showering silver romance,
to the leaves of tree so dull.

A cricket humming his chants
deep in meditation behind
the dark unknown shrub's branch.

Somewhere in a nest, a hatchling can't sleep
letting out feeble hunger cries
her mother did not fetch enough to feed.

While on my walk, I see those eyes
hiding behind a trunk, peeping
I assure it safety, I know may be lying

Night is the time for them to be,
struggling to enjoy independence and security
this unending night leading them to the unknown
what will remain I wonder at the crack of dawn.

this is the moon's
quiet rose, the unfolding
of the clouds, tranquility
resting her head,
the beautiful sea.