May 14, 2021

Flesh, time, fate, and some rather small owls.


I am moving through life covered with flesh. I don’t believe in time or in fate, just in the random events of the moment at hand. When, at last, I shake off this flesh, the moment is gone.

-jobe


The burrowing owls stand and watch closely as I walk by; have I come to threaten them? No? This is the anxiety of death that we all know. The burrowing owls, small, colored like the earth, like the cold ground, relax a little as I pass. I can see this. O cold night, let them know peace and comfort, these little beings who look at me and think of danger. 

-jobe


LINKS -

Ren Powell

Bait the Lines

Hardcore Zen

haiku eye

The Urban Mermaid

HOOT, a monthly literary magazine on a postcard

The Slowdown

clay and branches

THOTPURGE

Summer's End

Medusa's Kitchen

The Middlewesterner

The Morning Porch/Patio

VIA NEGATIVA, purveyors of fine poetry since 2003

thanks/jobe


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