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So Jo Jan 2017
too many black suitcases
in this world.

mine gapes,
guts spilling, insolent in an otherwise
check out ready room (bed abandoned,
two coffee mugs dripping
dry).

"so you'll just zip this life
closed..." it leers,
haemorrhaging treasures
gently offered, and *****
laundry, "...will you?"

this page, this pencil, will not
fit; must I leave you, too, behind?
So Jo Jan 2016
shoulder to shoulder.
you always sit close, camouflaged

bare skin emboldened
by white cotton

shirt sleeves. yes I feel your heat
right down to the elbow.

winch it all forward:
my eyes chin hips

knees feet, my hands
yet every edge tilts right

does anybody notice this
delicate heeling? to you. do you?

how much is in balance.
without moving, my lips

rehearse all the things
people say to each other
So Jo May 2015
i looked Love
straight in the eye.

Love looked right
over my shoulder.

takes courage
to recognise a lie.

takes a lie to keep
you growing bolder.
So Jo May 2015
chin turns, shadows flit    
cobble stones murmur - do you?      
the lane forks in two
So Jo Apr 2015
there, now -
Fukushima sakura unfold
in perfect pink oblivion.

here, now -
wind tears a madman's
origami from umbrellas

wire crane's feet
curl to the sky.
So Jo Apr 2015
I think of it, sometimes
in passing that corner. or

climbing those stairs,
two bodies entangled against

the rail. getting off
the rails. did they, too

recognise something
stranger in a stranger?

something I too thought
I had found. that night

I saw it. I was sure. the light
behind the pain. fireworks

behind closed eyelids.
ready to chase it all down

the rabbit hole. I was
already falling: Wonderland

wondering, wandering lost.
but no. it was just -

just a wet puddle
on impassive bitumen.

just a mirage. a trick
of the light.

whose light? I suppose
it was nothing, just

something very
ordinary

after all.
So Jo Jan 2015
we lived at a staccato rhythm
punctuating each other's
exclamations, yet
traced not a mark
on noteless time: an empty score

dissonant parts leave
not even the faintest of echos



- - - - - -
From an exercise shared by Sean Critchfield. Take the 7th book on your shelf, turn to page 7, and use the 7th line as your first line. The poem is restricted to 7 lines.
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