these are just moans from hell

Wars without names.

A bright red ball of wax slowly melts

under the unforgiving sun.

Old dogs play like children

and answer to names that we gave them.

The sentences we speak are whispers lacking

adjectives and adverbs, nothing but nouns and verbs.

Civilians die in wars without names, their survivors

have skins as thick as leather, skins like hides.

Skins with a crust. Skins without love.

The afternoon passes. The ball of wax is no more.

My personal escape.

By willing myself to become invisible,

I am able walk right out of this prison.

But friend, I ask you, are you truly free

If not even one person can see you?

Daylight is knocking at the door, but I will not open it. I’m in love with the darkness. The whales of morning bellow and blow, these are just moans from hell. Time is a river that cannot be dammed, but I am a man, and I can be damned. And maybe I am damned; time will tell. These thoughts form a piano, and a naked woman bangs out a song. Night flies through the sky like Superman on a mission. The stars have extraterrestrial eyes, and they whisper, "We will watch over you." I don't really give a damn about the whispers. I don't really give a damn about anything more than sunrise. 

JAMES LEE JOBE

BIG BILL BROONZY, Hey Hey, 1952

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.  

Thich Nhat Hanh 

Happiness is the absence of the striving for happiness. 

Zhuangzi

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jlj