Monsoon

Wet, you.

Oppressive, you.
Humid, you.

The smell,

…you.

BFM

House Poem

House Poem

House

Home Poem

Home

Poem Poem

Poem

BFM

Garden Path

Sometimes,
I exist

Sometimes,
I’m in control

Most times
my mind, a lie,
wanders
thistle paths
thorny dreams
swirling bricks
and chipped wood.

BFM

Watch

Dear poet, step away
from the laptop, put down
your pen and watch
the sparrow navigate
the Mesquite’s thicket.

BFM

Returning

after a long needed break

i return to being the self important
cartographer that I am:
the faux poet.

BFM