Tug my sweater down, pinch the skin
that peeks, and I feel the bones beneath
that design me with edges
No roundness nor circles nor pi
A linear loveliness creates
straight shadows
I wonder if you are partial to me?

-cj

I never could write a song
It was an unnatural endeavour, and
I wanted to, so much, but the notes
and words refused to stretch out of
the womb
Or at least knock the walls within to
give a hint as to what frivolities or
beauty I could put into the spaces
I tried to conjure up a melody, a rhyme
that wasn't wickedly elementary, but
all that came were impatient breaths
So I fumble with words and their
infinities instead

-cj

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.