thinking
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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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It’s 3:40 in the morning, and I’ve been here before. More times now than I care to remember.I wake up maybe a little before, open my eyes, stare off into darkness and think I can make out shadows within the stark black. I bring my hands close to my face and check—I can’t see them.
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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 