capricious pixie, you
your pert spritely self
has the candle blown out,
leaving you in the dark?
dancing to imitate yonder lark
on blue cerulean trees
how sagebrush spies, protecting
you from predators, catharsis
prey, you are, to them
you play safe seldom
has no one taught you
to close your world?

-c.j.

I am not Sylvia but I know sadness
sometimes I can taste it, still on my tongue
that omnipresent lump in my throat
the murderess in love, oscillating to the music
of speechless ignominies
tastes can impale you, slicing knives acting
as tonsils
knowing sadness, I know her
and of course, after all this time,
she must know me, too

-c.j.

that was when I knew but my mind didn't
my heart was in shambles when it tried to
beat for them
for you, though, it was fixed; steadier

I walked those streets with you in my head
and in each of my steps
it was your voice I heard, subconsciously,
telling me the histories of the buildings
I'd pass, whispering news from home that
you thought I wouldn't care about, but I did
that was when I knew I had been wrong, and
I kept listening to that song that told me to
stop waiting for him, but my mind didn't
know that yet

epiphanies have been had, I found out he was
a thief, a handsome façade
the heartbeats grew louder as your face appeared,
gracefully, and I smiled-
it was always you

-c.j.

I am aware of April marching toward me
and yes, I am scared
at a red light I tell him this;
you're strong enough, he says,
clasping my hand tighter

maybe, but I wasn't then, and somehow
an anniversary triggers it, and I can feel hell close
beside me, behind me, or ahead of me

I am strong enough
I was strong enough to change
and now I refuse to be a victim of circumstance
last year's methods were deadly and I am done
come, April, come
you won't see me fall

-c.j.

we lack the connection, wireless, at least
while you are in the sky, I'll be sighing
at home, glancing at the chocolates you
gave me that I keep beneath the bed
unopened, contraband- the only heart
I won't touch

you'll see the cathedrals, and winding
roads, and you'll think about me
how I cry without warning and wait
every morning for you
through the databases, at the least the least
primitive, may be unresponsive-
our mouths will move but no sound
will come out

we have our ways, we will find them
and reside in separate nations with
our eyes and minds full of each other

-c.j.

symptoms of spring fever:
is it aftermath of a cruel winter?
or hungry anticipation for summer?
everything is alive, and new
except for you, except for you
you have never felt less alive

-c.j.

I fell asleep with a pen behind my ear
is midnight your cliffhanger, too?

-c.j.