'Reclaiming the sacred in our lives naturally brings us close once more to the wellsprings of poetry.'
Robert Bly
Ghosts In Dreams
Nights where the dead come to visit me in dreams
like rain on a river
like snow on snow
There was a time when they said my name
held me
told me their dreams
Now they are memories of memories
rain on a river
snow on snow
Ghosts in dreams
James Lee Jobe
My sixth leg is my favorite, I use it to hold my weight when I climb.
My sixth leg, my web, the dead things that I eat. Life is an instrument of love played by a musician with immense talent, the chords are of the future and the past, the melody is of the moment. Death is an instrument, too. I have composed a symphony with dead flies. I spin chords of music into my web. I eat life and death and sound.
James Lee Jobe
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JLJ
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