Carter Jones

Imagine One

Single arrow
                 fired in a
                               lightless, concrete
                                              room with
                                                          no wall
                                                                         or limit. 

Real Oranges

I hope you step out
of the concert hall tonight
and do not trip
upon juvenile shoelaces.
Tie them up in a single loop.
Prove to us how much you've learned,
How far you've come.

I hope the stars are laid out
like they would be in a movie.
Twinkling, gliding, smiling.
Behold God's gapless front teeth.
I want them to demonstrate how
anything at great enough distance
may not actually be there.

I hope the day draws closer,
The one outlined on your calendar -
some desperate ant awaiting
the arrival of a magnifying lens.
And if it stings to be looked upon
then do not blame your admirers.
You were born waiting to combust.

I hope, towards the end, it is a decision
to finally let gravity prevail.
I hope this for the both of us.
Even our perfect orbits are
mathematically impossible to draw.
Even citrus from the corner store
is considered to be real oranges. 

There is a Body

All the days are holy,
balsam fir to help remember.
There was a time when we expected you.

The only real angels are bodies.

The color of need is pink:
it is everywhere and it
is all over you.

Heaven, then, is a prism carefully arranged.

Sunbeams in your diamonds,
and a soft blushing
when you wake.

Every morning, lifted to the prairie. 


Carter Jones is a teacher candidate living by the river in Potsdam, New York. He pets all three of the cats every day.