"the roots of love come tumbling down" when the winter exits and spring takes over, melting the snow and whispering to the sproutlings
transforming the ice into a river, the cold into warmth, the deadness into newness

no intelligence decides the weather- if clouds thicken, rain abounds, if impressions ****** the soil to the worms
a single thorn mutilates our trust, staining any emblems worn that winter day, but
the crumbling love outside rests tonight

-c.j.

are you mine or should I give up that fight
this alienation seeks to press in, it is eager to bite
jilted lovers, if lovers at all
fading like old photographs hung on the wall
whatever the oblique harangue put on,
little frames adorn anyway
lightness into lightness

just before the empty,
I ignite, I paint the stars-
and the feeling that usurps grace is suddenly over me

-c.j.

inevitably waking up to a black sun, the eclipse is stuck
news channels don't even mention it anymore because
it's been this way for a while, now

sunshine became shadow- the smart people said we should just turn
night into our day, with the moon as a replacement
the world cannot revolve around a dark star, so the world chose to be nocturnal

we adapt constantly, we still are somewhat comfortable, but all
of the flowers are gone and we've turned to animals for their meat
desperately as the goods of the ground die out

pale arms and legs are the norm, and we ration our electricity in case this never ends, in case the sun never sheds its selfish cloak

we are managing, but there is no such thing as thriving, anymore

-c.j.

over the years the line "this dream is, this dream is in a telescope now"
has meant something but only lately did I realise what it means,
at least, in one facet-
the ideals swirling in my head, these things I think I want, these stories and scenes that infatuate me until I'm speechless-
they are far behind now, not because I changed my mind,
but because I grew up
and it takes a telescope to see them now

-c.j.

say you need me like lepers need miracles
like houses need foundations
say you could not live without me here,
brushing your hair out of your eyes, telling you
a song I love or a stupid joke I make up
because I know I need you, for life
I will be your miracle worker and solid ground
just tell me that you want me to

-c.j.

thank heavens I realised he can't treat me that way
what kind of man tells you of his infatuation,
gets separated from you, reunites with you,
then exerts his energy to secret affairs, the kind
that set you beside another woman and allows
people to shine flashlights into your eyes?
what kind of twisted love story is that?
not mine, no, not mine

-c.j.

Sally prefers to be wrapped up in books,
to ignore the others' penetrating looks
cathedral bells in her head, a Catholic wedding
in the plot

-c.j.