Smearing

Our pyroclastic remains litter our once wannabe house. 

The first great dream is always a bruising lie, leaving one feeling cornered. 

Dipping our index and middle fingers into liniment jars, 
smearing balm like war paint, with an ash chaser.

We ready for something smaller, a one bedroom apartment, apart. 

BFM

Monsoon

Wet, you.

Oppressive, you.
Humid, you.

The smell,

…you.

BFM

Zen Masters

Comical
watching
two cocks
in the chicken yard 
fight  over
zen and
not zen.

BFM

Storm

Rain falls, words form, sentences puddle.

BFM