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James Lo Mar 2019
seventy candles flicker in a room full

the sweet union of voices

sixty-nine times before that day

the man walked the moon when I was ten

I had heard stories and so I dropped

the mentos

as my son speared it into the sky

giggles erupted and hearts soared

As our chins tilted toward the sun
James Lo Feb 2019
Me and her, we lost touch

been 5 years now I’ve been sober

We took the bottle to the porch

Smashed it to one thousand

pieces, scattered with sharp edges

We sliced-up our fingers cleaning

oh, the mess we made.
James Lo Feb 2019
honey tangy nectar.
coat-your-mouth
gives crunch drip

oblique emerald tears
firmy cushiony give
speckled red, burnished orange

creviced crimson deep
garish grooves
bite-jarring grind

acrobatic twirling
diplomatic fingers
whittled down
to the core.
James Lo Feb 2019
Things are supposed to matter
You take comfort in your own company
Lying with yourself of the want to belong
When really all there is
Are miles of fresh air
From the distance you have driven
James Lo Feb 2019
Your noise sounds
like an echoing cavern

change the reflection
crack the mirror

Reverberation magnifies
James Lo Feb 2019
Begging to stop
Pressure to the cooker
Ready to implode

One thousand miles
The wrong direction
Glance behind
The drop of a stone

Pines creaking
Sturdy shaking
Debris falling

Sun blinding
Earth quaking
Rubble forming

Tunnel stretching
Way finding
Turn-around

Step after step
Step after step
Step after step.

Airy breeze, scattered rays, awaking roots & salt sea spray.
James Lo Feb 2019
We are our favourite flowers
Steeped in a full vase
Seasons pass -
with the dipping water.

We forget  / or were not
taught. To add our own flower
food. To cut our own
stems. To cultivate our own
cuttings.

Seek not to be
crisp, divine, distinct
For it is already
apparent.

Be it if you
are fanned, variegated or needled
voluptuous or diffident
fresh or heartfelt  
Or just ****** herbaceous

We are own favourites.
We forget that to be in the vase
was a choice
For we can always resettle, reposition, repot,
for the coming season.
It's never too late. Never.
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