Tag Archives: John Grey

In a man’s deep eyes, how empty the craters. Heart, give me the exact moment. All other times fall flat. The first drop confused you. You survived. But then there was the second. Yeah, good old diesel train. The ghost … Continue reading →

It’s not the street lamp but its fragile voice, nor the sidewalk, just the winds it broadcasts. A woman has no better place to be. That’s the tongueless language hereabouts. And it’s not the city. The hot dog swimming in … Continue reading →

She has learned to appreciate oceans. Mountains loom large in her heart’s credenza. Forests have been taken in like orphans. Rivers, lakes – brand new soulmates. Next up is her husband’s soiled clothes, his snores at three a.m. And then … Continue reading →

Lobster boats turn toward the docks. The highway turns toward the bay. Ahead of me, the bridge stands proud of what it has accomplished. I drive up and over, frontiers flashing in my brain. A rusty barge slips beneath. Slow … Continue reading →

There will be a time for the ice to melt and the ducks to return. The surface will be windowpane-clear, served by the sun, the sky, with a dash of golden blue. It will not always be cops, spinning lights, … Continue reading →