poetry
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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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Part I: The END. If only you had wanted to read what I had written for us, I’m certain our story would have had a different ending. Part II: (Body) But here I am, still writing, each word a paper boat set adrift on a river that no longer leads to you. Pages pile like
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“Like dewdrops that sparkle in summer’s warm rays On gossamer wings of a midsummer’s day,I tickled sweet Life, and her laughter took flight,Like wind-scattered petals that dance and sway,My heart bloomed crimson in morning’s soft light. But fortune’s wheel turned, and she drifted away,Her eyes became storms on a wind-ravaged sea.Through winter I wandered, lost
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they fed me words like stale crackers through a chain-link fence while I pissed in the gutter and called it love messages at 2 a.m. “u up?” and I’d crawl through broken glass to read them like the dog I was cheap vodka and cheaper promises that’s all they gave while I sat
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“Each algorithm-curated morsel falling like manna from silicon skies, too perfectly sized to choke on, too sweet to resist.” Google knew the recipe for the feast I’d been searching for all my life, Each algorithm-curated morsel falling like manna from silicon skies, Too perfectly sized to choke on, too sweet to resist. Motionless save for
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By the ocean’s edge, where dunes rise high, A girl sits beneath the moonlit sky. She whispers vows to the glowing sphere, As waves crash blue, their song draws near. The salted breeze, with whispers low, Combs through her hair, still touched by glow. She pledges truth, her heart sincere, To the moon above,
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I am a pillar of salt,frozen in place,looking back on a lifeI cannot retrace. Salt the ground beneath my feet,cast out for lack of taste,a barren void of withered seed,choked by ash and sinful waste. The heavens pour,mercy’s rain falls still—a gift for the righteousand sinners who will.Yet I dissolve, grain by grain,a quiet
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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,
BB Grey--musings 