blog
-
of course you said we& so i unlearned my own namefor the shape of an us only to findthe space between your hello& your goodnightis an oceanwhere i amdrowning alone. you have your houseyour children a steady chorusin the same keyyou have the same wallsthat have held other voices& called it home. & me?i have…
-
In war, you wear two faces—casualty, survivor. In peace, only one remains, and it weighs heavier. Pain drifts in—neither enemy nor friend,a shadow castby the flickering lamp of existence. A war without armies,fought in silence,where each breath is deathand resurrection. The lungs whisper, why?No answer comes. Eyes in the dark—promising nothing,searching endlesslyfor the fracture that…
-
“Chancho. When you are a man, sometimes you wear stretchy pants.” Nacho Libre Nacho Libre drops that gem on his sidekick while getting busted in his luchador tights, and damn if it didn’t sneak-attack my brain the other day. Picture this: I’m crawling along the freeway, soul-crushing traffic turning my car into a rolling therapy…
-
Piernas de viento,largas,cruzando el filo donde el aire sangra. Las lágrimas esperan,quietas como cuchillos en la mesa,pero tú no paras,ni miras atrás. Las piedras lloran por ti,rezan un Padre Nuestroque nunca acaba.Repites el guiondel sufrirpor unosolo. Te espero.Lo sabes.Te vale apenas más que nada,el despojo que queda de mí. De la flaca no me guardo…
-
I wished for you to arrive in the shape of a moment,not planned—just… happened.But time, ever cryptic, wore the wrong watch that day.I didn’t know you were already walking through my frequency,your presence trembling inside a missed ring,a number that never belonged to us. No, not ours.Let me trace it again in ink instead of…
-
It’s Wednesday. The world’s on hold—Wall Street holds its breath like a priest before confession,waiting on the Fed to whisper its gospel of rates.The headlines scroll with conflict:dust devils of sand and sorrow between Iran and Israel,while a man in a white hat chants a forgotten hymnabout greatness, past tense. And me?I’m at Rosebuds, beneath…
-
Do you recall the days gone by,Before the net lit up the sky?When phones were fixed upon the wall,And life moved slow, if moved at all. Messages waited by the door,A scribbled note, not something more.No pings or dings to steal the day,Just peace until you made your way. The world was smaller, sure, it’s…
-
“My father never spoke in parables, but his hands told stories clearer than any sermon. In wood, he found truth. In silence, understanding.” The sander thrummed in my grip, its vibration crawling up my forearm like a pulse, like memory. Mahogany dust hung in the warm air, rich and sharp, smelling of patience, of near-perfection,…
-
for my son, who flew toward his own sun It’s always been a sin, hasn’t it?To want too much.To hope.To leave.To stay. The days with you—man once a boywaiting for eggs I’d scramblelike penance,as the toaster hummed its tired absolution,those mornings are rosaries now,threadbare prayersslipping through guilty hands. You make your own breakfastin a city…
BB Grey--musings 