i hold my honey and i store my bread
in little jars and cabinets of my will.
i label clearly, and each latch and lid
i bid, Be firm till i return from hell.
i am very hungry. i am incomplete.
and none can give me any word but Wait,
the puny light. i keep my eyes pointed in;
hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt
drag out to their last dregs and i resume
on such legs as are left me, in such heart
as i can manage, remember to go home,
my taste will not have turned insensitive
to honey and bread old purity could love.

-g. brooks 'my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell'







high but caught
in the light
of darkness

me
in downtown los angeles
25. 6. 2010