Bulbous & Red

I must stop making declarations,

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

BFM

Time

The curve of the hand 

and hourglass

feel the slipping sand.

B.F.M

Anxiety 2

Floating on a tide that ignores moon and sun, who’s true masters are relentless pictographs – a historical fiction writer and an one eyed seer in a meat locker with a cracked crystal ball – my cooled breath quickens as I watch shark fins circle my predilections for thunder and lightning. 

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.

Falling Ash

I was doing nothing,suddenly
Pompeii ash everywhere.

My heart, my lungs covered and coated 
I'm unable to breathe.

B.F.M.