greyscale musings

breakfast

hotel carpet, orderly tables adorned with matching cloths

paper napkins, heavy metal silverware

people wasting away a Thursday morning.

thermostat is set much too high

a sign: ‘no smoking’ another: ‘no slavery’

a hostess not attractive enough to be successful

a waitress far too beautiful not to be

extra large portions, one runny egg, one perfect

a field of dry potatoes, speckled with green

crisp bacon, thick cut

toast off the griddle, average at best

strawberry preserves that find a way to be chunky and slimey

at the same time

tea out of place in a coffee pot

kind hearted racism spouts from a wrinkled mouth

subtle looks of disagreement and disdain

an old man strains to read the paper, he does every day

overheard gossip means nothing

dusty blinds let in the grey morning light

rings on fat fingers twinkle

eyes zag and zip between rival tables

the most important meal of the day

future

a dirty penny

blissfully glistening

painfully scratched

rolling on the dirty pavement

heads or tails.

can fate really be this simple?

a funeral

naked trees are caskets of memories

crispy leaves lay fallen on the frozen ground

scattered ashes of summer

ashes of things we can’t hold onto

buried when they’re carried off in the cold

there is no closure

when we don’t control the wind

blurry

blue, white, green, yellow

are all so different

against the backdrop of faded brick

they are all so blurry

through dirty windows

differing opinions

connecting the dots quickly and haphazardly

is almost always better

than not doing it at all

says the dots.

the picture underneath is less sure

first day of snowfall

quickly falling snow

sidewalks covered in grey slush

painfully wet shoes

streetlights

the streetlights are almost as muted as the stars

they cast a faded amber glow over the bleakness

a red stoplight cuts through the landscape

almost as aggressively as the headlights racing by

the windows aren’t as vibrant as the stories they tell

in the streetlights

judgement

justice

the gavel smashes the sound block
a woman in the parlor shrieks
eighteen to life; closure; sort of

hell

screams lost in a blistering wind
shattered mirrors stained with blood
smoking coals erupt in flame and dust

beauty

step – step – step – turn – step – step – step
“I think that we really need to focus on hunger.”
Second runner up. First runner up. “Screams.”

different

grapefruit
orange
kumquat

marriage

“I want to get married.”
a church, a hatred, a misunderstanding
“I can’t get married.”

food

roast quail with Moroccan spices
double quarter pounder with cheese
“I eat better.” “You’re a snob.”

problem

an empty rocks glass
alone at the bar
black liver. “Another.”

lost

I wish I could remember these houses

they have a beautiful story to tell

the skyscrapers across the night sky make me forget

when it’s grey outside

trees aren’t as vibrant when it’s grey outside

they blend in with power lines, with stoplights, with street signs

the western mountains are lost in the hazy clouds and smog

this landscape would be deafening if it weren’t so muted

the wind picks up to scatter dust and leaves and memories and newspaper over the beaten down cement

footsteps are harder to discern, harder to remember, harder to acknowledge when the wind blows

sounds echo more loudly in the wind when it’s grey outside

they are just harder to understand