blog
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“Trust, if it ever truly existed, hangs by a thread—a spiderweb filament stretched thin between two points: you and me. Once, we were tethered by chains forged in shipyards, strong and unyielding. Now, those chains have snapped, leaving us adrift, floating farther apart toward horizons we’ll never share.“ The rain falls softly outside, but…
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“he burned with a fire that knew no end. His hands, broad and calloused,his heart, even more-so. He could twist and turn,push and pull,pound and punch,maul and mallet—his hands,instruments of labor,implements of intent. He could love, then lose,wish, then want,withstand, yet waver,give, yet get—his heart,a blazing furnace,yet a flickering flame. Celebrated for his hands’ craft,despised…
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In this cell, my new pickle,Locked in like a riddle,God’s playin’ games, I’m in the middle,Brought a friend with a sickle. Prayin’ on my knees, beggin’ please,Countin’ sheep, no Zs, just disease,Woke up in this mess, no peace,Dreamt of freedom, but it’s all just tease. Warden’s screamin’, “Time’s up, son!”But I just sat down, just…
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armor against the daggers of the world I have these beads, worn smooth, heavy with the weight of grief, prayer beads, perhaps, oiled by the endless rolling through sprocket teeth, like fingertips tracing the edges of a forgotten dream. They lie in wait, recoiled upon a black lacquered table, ready to take their place at…
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“Life, it’s falling, stumbling, leaving marks…“ Life is a series of snippets—like 30-second commercials selling us narratives about ourselves, to ourselves, and to others. Saturday, Rainless. The day hung heavy with the promise of rain, yielding only sweat. I had been to Los Angeles, left a message, texted early, and answered your call with silence…
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Good Morning Yesterday was a fiasco that ended with me eating lemon bread in bed. Crumbs are everywhere, a clothes trail from the front door through the living room, bathroom, and finally next to the bed—the order of disrobing exactly opposite of what one might expect. I had bought a pallet of concrete blocks,…
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The pull… to push, With stenciled lettered tiles beneath these worn fingertips, Leads me back to you. As I recall, the night before, When you, my queen, Held court in a palace not our own, Yet made me feel at home. A banquet feast served, My eyes locked on, The beauty, Chalice cup,…
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“In the beginning was the Word,” and boy, was it capitalized like it knew it was important! This Word isn’t just any word; it’s a symbol, a stand-in for everything from your coffee mug to your existential dread. Imagine, if you will, this Word was there before the thing it represents even existed. Like, did…
BB Grey--musings 