Making Mud

I have been a poor collector,

abandoning hope after hope

enchantment after enchantment
charm after charm.

Instead
I collect wooden bowls
and in turn they collect dust
the dust waits for rain
the rain waits for clouds
and mud waits for alchemy.

BFM

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

Hunter Gatherer

Walking the woods

gathering elm, maple, 

oak, birch, sycamore 
leaves, twigs,
patches of moss 
squirrel tufts, 
owl bones, feathers.

Hot glueing them to my
feet, ankle, calves, knees, 
thighs, buttocks, cock, 
stomach, chest, hands, 
forearms, wrists, biceps,
neck, cheeks, ears,
forehead. 

Hidden, I wait for prey.
I wait for you.

BFM

Bulbous & Red

I must stop making declarations,

’tis foolishness, a clowns nose.
I hate clowns, scary as a viper's pit.

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

Sorrows of Sorrow

everything
i’ve
loved
i’ve
reduced

to art.

BFM