and i wait

i put myself into my own hands
i try to lift me up
above the miasma
and can only gather enough
strength to drag myself
through the stench

all the words say
“the only way out is through”
so i bear the rubbish and rust,
ask when it’s going to be my turn,
and count on the constant answer,
“you’re next, just hold on”
and i wait, i wait, wiat, wait
next never comes

i persevere
in love with my odds…

every single person that never tried,
didn’t succeed,
that one isn’t me
“am i next? is it going to be me?”
“yes son, you’re next, just hold on”

and i wait, i wait, wait, w-a-i-t



i try so hard to push you
to the back of my mind
where i might not notice you
as much,
where you won’t trip me up,
but every turn,
page or corner,
brings you to the front
where i have to read the words
or see your shape in shadows,
you are in everything,
fleeting glimpse,
lines on the page,
sweet sweet memory of
your taste on my tongue,
perfume on my collar,
i can’t get enough of

— glb

you are there

you are there,
I know because
I just told you to
get out…

you are not
there, are you?
there is something,

in my being,
I know you are
there, so get out!

I don’t want you
to see me breaking
like this…

but I am not
there there either,
so how could I
see you there?

I am broken and
I need someone
to pick up the

why can’t you
be here?

— GB

100 Words for 12-17-2013

I started to talk to her about where she would go if she had two weeks off and she answered with a very curt reply, “Hong Kong”.  Then she was off waiting on other bar patrons.  The majesty with which she slung those bottles of liquor around was second only to a crane taking flight from the edge of a placid pond.  Her hair flowed about her shoulders, her face contorted into amazing shapes. Then she would place the drinks down on the bar as softly as if a butterfly was landing on a petal.  I was falling in love.