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

Trollhood

I didn’t become a troll on purpose. It happened after the falling in love was done, when the fog filled costal valleys, when the silver tarnished and you no longer saw me in the silvery light of a spoon.

B.F.M.

Affections Come then Go

Yesterday I climbed to the top branch of the everlasting oak. Today’s sorrow the branch breaks and I come tumbling down thwacked about by each branch I triumphed yesterday.

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.