Mothers See

The right hand is darker than the left. An apple is flecked with yellowish specks. Peeled tangerines sit on a blue and white checkered tablecloth. Horses are ridden.

Schooners hoisted sails fill the innocent bay with blood stained sheets, puffed up and out, gliding hulls through skipping waters. Gulls squawk.

Mothers standing on crescent shores seeing there daughters number, 543, 782 or 314, hoisted, skipping into bluer waters.

B.F.M.

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.

I row & row

A little rower 

in his chipped blued rowboat

pushing and pulling words 

into 

and 

out of 

a barren sea’s 

slapping waves.

B.F.M.