I know what I'm doing

Rita kept her fuzzy strapped pink slippers and matching laced negligee chilled in the lower neglected family waters at tentacles reach.

Her skin glistened like frosted dew in the moon's wane, ready to melt under the firm embrace of an intellectual bipedal man, if only he’d risk a late night swim in a losing tide uncovering tentacles flailing with knives, forks and mirrored shards.

B.F.M.

Not Me

Who’d a thought

a broken down mule

would find a home

in tender arms?

B.F.M.

Molotov

I know fondness, desire, coupling, 

jealousy, abandonment, fear, 

a blundered icy cocktail 

with a warm and fuzzy back burn.

B.F.M.

Bowl A beggar

A beggar 
holds out his bowl,
I climb in.

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.

Tether

Once, I was sure, but lacked 
leaf's courage to let go.
Now, I fear the wind.

B.F.M.