the heaviness of crows

In this spell we are stars from different galaxies.

When the still day comes to an end,
both good and evil have been prepared.
-Georg Trakl

The fire in the stove is built from the sound of dogs howling
This fire has howling to burn instead of wood
And this fire is the edge of night, its sharpest corner
Its finest and longest dream

This is the corner where the avenues of love and indifference meet
Muddy Waters is playing a long blues riff on guitar
And I am kissing your lips, one lip at a time
Then you smile and the spell is cast in shadow and thought

In this spell we are stars from different galaxies
That stand naked together
Toe to toe, face to face, shining
We are as bright as the pleasure of living

In this spell the earthquakes have names like old blues men
From another generation, from earlier decades
With names like Hambone and Sonny
I am lost, and I say that out loud for you to hear

There is a moth drawn to the light of the stove
The way that life is drawn to death
The way that death is drawn to life
That moth's time is almost up

And you and I, you put your soft and gentle hands
To the sides of my face and pull me down to you
And then you very gently bite my lower lip
Fire and time and spells mean nothing to us anymore

James Lee Jobe

You are not only responsible for what you say, but also for what you do not say.

Martin Luther (1483-1546)

SISTER ROSETTA THARPE - Didn't It Rain?

These fields are dew-wet and heavy with crows and gloom, and it is still a long walk to get to the house of the poet. Just past dawn and hungry, a biscuit and black coffee was all, two hours ago in the darkness, the night before spent in prayer and shivers, under the stare of the grandfather clock. One cold tick at a time. What is this weight of grief? What is this ghastly tonic that fails to heal? There is no promise waiting at the house of the poet. Is there even anyone there to answer the door? And now the shoes and the pant-legs are dew-wet. The heaviness of crows is a weight upon the soul, and the first light is not burning away the fog. From the far end of the pasture, hidden in mist, comes the sound of hoof-beats. 

James Lee Jobe 

An English philosopher said that whatever is cosmic is also comic. Do the best you can and don't take it so seriously. 

Bernie Glassman

May we simply refuse to compete
And begin to share.

James Lee Jobe 

Please consider making a donation through the BUY ME A COFFEE button below. It's done safely online, and just takes a moment. Thanks! 

James