refelctions
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A broken clock is correct twice a day. It strikes true.Its hands remain motionless.Gears, sprockets, jewels, springs—all frozen. You and me?Two pictures. The clock keeps timethe same way you and I do— twice a day,working,doing time.
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Saturday doesn’t show up smiling. It comes grinning like a wolf, collecting all the half-finished jobs and promises I left scattered Monday through Friday. The weight of them lands on me the moment I wake. There’s this strange pressure to make Saturday count. Not quite work, not quite rest, more like a holding pen for
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“The lake still reflects and doubles anything at the water’s edge, making me feel I was there, and the double could shoulder and take all that is wrong with me and carry it away.” The Lake, the Screen, the Void It’s another day. The lake sits there, smug in its stillness, reflecting everything at the
BB Grey--musings 