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.

Mirror Mirror

Out of the horror – the mirror darkly –
no Phoenix, nor Lazarus will rise,
instead
slithering shadows 
that should crawl not walk.

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.

Abandonment

My rime formed
in formative years
is meant to keep you at bay.

My slick craggy shores, 
lack kindling or foothold
is meant to keep me distant.

My charm: 
trapped coolness;
glassy particles;
seething–hatred–remorse;
thick tarry dark matter;
belief in a Simoom fairytale.

B.F.M.