really nice cheese

prose poems today

           Whenever the wound even hints that it might be healing, I rip it open again. Dear Son, I will never forget you, and as I live, so will I mourn. I can see your handsome face and hear your deep voice just as clearly as if we had visited yesterday, as if it had not been years since I spread your ashes around California. 

           You have a god and a savior, that’s fine. You have a heaven for your eternity. I do not. I do have, however, really nice cheese. The truly fine, expensive kind. And if those are my choices, I’ll stick with the cheese. 

           No, the people are not without hope. Look at them, rubbing their bellies like fat apes. Holding their arms up to the empty sky in thanks for their situation. If you were to dig a hole deep enough, one of the fools would climb down into it. Then you could bury that one and call it a day. My, my; everyday should be so good.

prose poems, James Lee Jobe

somewhere in Cuba

If these black sleeves

Of my priestly robe

Were ample enough,

Oh, how I would envelop

All the people in need!

Ryokan

           Hello. James Lee here. If you enjoy this blog, and I hope that you do, please consider making a donation through the BUY ME A COFFEE button below. It's done safely online, and just takes a moment. 

Thanks! -jlj