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

Near-Sighted

My eyes see you 

inches from me

my heart feels

you’re

a marathon away.

B.F.M.

Cistern

Cut glass distorts your eyes and my seeing. We continue on, as if the cistern hadn't been rotated and filled with ice. We practiced — okay and fine; two amateur ping pong players in a polite warmup.

B.F.M.

The Fair

Over and over we rode the the Tunnel of Love, Tilt a Whirl, The Flying Dutchman.

Ate pussy and cock like pink and blue cotton candy, pretending it was nourishment. 

Looked into each other's eyes until they turned drab-empty. Smiled, like we were still having the time of our life.

B.F.M.

Catch & Release

The flawed tics of a clock are perfect in measure, like cold creek water slipping through cupped hands.

I once had a perfect moment: a train heard miles away, tiny sparrows chirping, no dumbbells squishing my brain. Then like a slap to my head, I looked up and saw a 747 landing with its 747 anxious passages waiting to get off. 

It's the same way love turns into a dagger or yesterday's beauty veers tragic locked in a cage plucking out its own feathers.

B.F.M.

Crow's Song

Her sorrows racked across 
her shoulders heavy and barbed,

from his leaving and his leaving and his leaving and his leaving and his leaving...

like a crow's repeated caw stuck in a belly
burdened with stones.

B.F.M.

Shards

After I kissed you good-bye,

I made my ritual strong coffee, 

watched the sun crest the ridge,

watched her define clear cut 

but empty shadows.

Shattered ceramic shards

cut at my feet.

I cried over each fragment:

the handle’s curve in twos,

the bottom’s foundation in fours,

the walls that held in eights.

Bloodied, I did what I could, 

I got up did 
laundry, sorting, hurting.

B.F.M.

Burned Once

How will go for me 

when

stove top

gas burners 
are 

flaming high

and grease 
is 
all that I am?

B.F.M.

Betrayal

Though you say
the morning cock crowed
I was miles away.

B.F.M.

Jealousy

Brown goo, 
sepia seeping 
under currents
squeezed between
teeth.

B.F.M

Black & Tan Lament

Click on image for a larger view.

Black & Tan Lament
16" x 20"
Digital prints available.
2012


Black & Tan Lament
Hollowed, on a barstool, 
Gladys offers you
the black & tan.


Remember what mother said: Share

Tipping Dominos

Losing morning after morning,

hermetically sealed inside a

windowed room 

crowded 

with ten foot wooden ladders

he rants his Poet-ness

atop a 

plastic footstool.

B.F.M.

Sunday Rain

I wasn't crying
then the rain came,
and we both wept in sheets.

B.F.M.

Trail Map Lament

I found 
an old trail map
of yours.

The one with polkadots
and trails highlighted
in bright star pink.

Yet no matter how closely
I followed it, 

it

never 
led me 
back to you.

B.F.M.