hampered by lust, ruin, and sleep

Patapsco River, Maryland 
(A few minutes from where I was born.)

It’s an imaginary chair for imaginary visitors 

It sits in the middle of the floor facing my own chair 

And I often sit there thinking of the conversations I’ll never have 

And the friends I’ll never know 

Thank you emptiness 

I can always count on you 

----

I think of my legs as old farm horses 

Worn out by time and work 

And now 

The wagon and the plow 

Are pulled by fresher beasts 

And my legs get to graze all day 

In the deeps of the green pasture 

And sleep every night in the barn 

Time is a vast farm 

Worked and re-worked 

And then worked yet again 

----

The ancient lust has been silenced now 

It is ruin and sleep that awaits us 

There is rust on this darkness 

Rust on the heavy chambers of age 

And rust on the weight of that rift 

That hides between the earth and the sky 

We are tiny creatures on a rock in the milky way 

Hampered by lust, ruin, and sleep 

Slowed by rust and death 

Our night clothes might as well be shrouds 

And yet we still love 

There is some hope in that 

Ring the small bell once, just once 

And then join me beneath the blankets of this grave 

Come into my rotting arms, my love

JAMES LEE JOBE

To receive everything, one must open one's hands and give.

Taisen Deshimaru

For some reason, the most vocal Christians among us never mention the Beatitudes (Matthew 5). But, often with tears in their eyes, they demand that the Ten Commandments be posted in public buildings. And of course, that's Moses, not Jesus. I haven't heard one of them demand that the Sermon on the Mount, the Beatitudes, be posted anywhere. "Blessed are the merciful" in a courtroom? "Blessed are the peacemakers" in the Pentagon? Give me a break!

Kurt Vonnegut

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Many thanks, James