tis fragile-
it is ruined when tugged and distorted
by thought
it is perfect, alone

-c.j.

author of these clumsy fictions-
dearly yours, on all fours
fighting attacking our young dreams
from corners tight, often alight
amour, oh traveling one,
fearful darling

-c.j.

most of my cells linger in their near-kisses
with yours
the rest assume figures no one can detect
dancing carefully on new floors
and reciting those younger whims
keep no talents if love corrupts me
open my meanest October chest left
in the niche
whether you think romance allows
frailty, no one can dare determine
cast off neuroticisms, friend
and reach, trip, yearn
watch kindness' next trick

-c.j.

while the older kids threw parties,
we threw darts
mathematics held us hostage every school night
numbers spiralling endlessly, halves unloved
halves must divide
tug-of-war, playground trivialities
kids of the wear-and-tear
worry the other kind to pray when
the day meanders

-c.j.

the bells rang to alert the heavens
of earth's whereabouts
watery evening oratory has tinged
allegiances to rightness blue with tears
recent tales amplify the heaviness
of every word
will echoes offer heat, take away the
ruthless blizzards, will they?

-c.j.

late running in on your silver steed
ride with grace, no desire to race
harsh fences to admire with dull eyes
entry devils whisk away troublesome friends
hanging red tulips, divine nuisances
growing weary reading subliminal stanzas
yielding, or instead, risking loss,
to appear perfect

-c.j.

the world without pillows is a world dreamless
destitute waiting and insecure pacing
wild, wise tempers
the world without dreams is a world joyless
deadened weight along icy ports
while work thrives elsewhere

-c.j.