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eight billion people on earth

eight billion people on earth

3.7.2025

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book of jobe
Mar 07, 2025
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eight billion people on earth
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black and white cat on road
Photo by Azur Golic on Unsplash

I live on the surface of the planet like any other beast
I cook the flesh and eat it
tearing the pieces apart with my bare hands
sometimes I even growl when I eat

I admire the owl and the hawk and the birds of prey
they live in the moment and they eat what they kill

time passes like the stars crossing the sky
like the layers of a vast onion
peeled away slowly
one layer at a time

does the wind know my name
of course not — don’t be foolish

the wind is here to bless these things
everything I have ever told you
with its blustery kiss

-jobe


My dinners at home are startlingly simple. Every night, I stop at the market near my hotel and pick up a steak, lamb chops or some liver, which I broil in the electric oven in my room. I usually eat four or five raw carrots with my meat, and that is all. I must be part rabbit; I never get bored with raw carrots.

Marilyn Monroe


Tarfia Faizullah Reads From Her Book “Seam”

note: Tarfia Faizullah is a Bangladeshi American poet. Born in Brooklyn, NY and raised in West Texas. I find her work amazing.


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Yes, I can do this.

the white walls of the city are always giving off sound
—Georg Trakl

listen now - can you hear it?
that's the sound of another soul deciding to be born
choosing to enter a body and live
one more human lifetime of toil and suffering
and yes, of happiness and love
it is the sound of light when it floods the darkness
and fear is cast off, when someone looks around
and says, "yes, i can do this"
it is grace and humanity, the human experience
the white walls of the city
are there for more than just mere protection
my friend, they are there to echo the sounds of hope

jobe

I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.

Carl Sandburg

eight billion people on earth
and the only one who will have me
is here
and she is the only one I wanted
anyway

jobe

Like most of these posts, there is a paywall. Paying subscribers can read on, including a poem by 19th century Iranian poet, Táhirih. It’s not just good, it’s Slap Me Hard And Call Me Johnny good. No pressure. I appreciate everyone.

jobe

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