life
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One extreme to another,we move like shadows in a hall of mirrors,chasing reflections of what never was. I thought you loved me—but love is a language I misread,syllables slipping between regretand the point of diminishing returns. We all make mistakes,excuses have their uses,like slicing a cake into piecestoo small to taste. Shaking a hand, clenching…
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Capaldi weeps for nothing.I shuffle forward in the queue of the dead,never once lifting my head,feeling I should create for something. Emperor penguins,a waiting room—life and death strung on a clothesline,attire we wear to tear yet still look fine. Morning clock strikes noon.Motors purr, then roar, then still.Now becomes soon.Restlessness makes for ill. Scurry…
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“Running is the greatest metaphor for life: You get out of it what you put into it.”— Mishka Shubaly It’s the Sunday of leaving,half-full boxes, half-measured haste,the weight of what was once worth somethingnow vanished without a trace. I have stood too long at the line,Get set… then silence, then bang—false starts that stole my…
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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…
BB Grey--musings 