poetry, blues, and a llama

My photo. I know this llama. Well, we've met.
That sound in a seashell.
Holding a seashell up to my ear -- do you know
that sound? I used to say it was the ocean.
Not anymore. Now I know what it is, it is the sound
of my son's life, the son I lost. And I don't say
anything at all about it to anyone. I just sit and listen.
james lee jobe
Wherever you go you wil…
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