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

Two Things

It's one thing to chain a man to an anchor, to drop him overboard; it's another to leash him to a buoy, to let him drift.

B.F.M.

Campaign Speech

He opens his mouth 
spewing 
a mosquito swarm 
that morphs 
from one ameba shape 
to another;

the harried cloud 
scampers toward 
Frog Creek
where
The Faithful gather 
smiling 
at one another 
awaiting this evenings 
amuse-bouche.

B.F.M

Sunday Rain

I wasn't crying
then the rain came,
and we both wept in sheets.

B.F.M.