When to Bluff

My love, we’ve become an ordinary poker hand, 

a pair of threes thinking we were a flush.

B.F.M.

Cistern

Cut glass distorts your eyes and my seeing. We continue on, as if the cistern hadn't been rotated and filled with ice. We practiced — okay and fine; two amateur ping pong players in a polite warmup.

B.F.M.

Annoying Lot

Brothers. Holmes. Both think they deduce motive, flavors, favorite colors. Decipher voice inflections. One of them read too much of the other.

B.F.M.

Spell

Quiet dirge,

twilight.

Moon born

half light.

Mind, mind, mind.

Snow drift,

midnight.

Dark raven's 

vexed sight.

B.F.M.

Anxiety 2

Floating on a tide that ignores moon and sun, who’s true masters are relentless pictographs – a historical fiction writer and an one eyed seer in a meat locker with a cracked crystal ball – my cooled breath quickens as I watch shark fins circle my predilections for thunder and lightning. 

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.

The Fair

Over and over we rode the the Tunnel of Love, Tilt a Whirl, The Flying Dutchman.

Ate pussy and cock like pink and blue cotton candy, pretending it was nourishment. 

Looked into each other's eyes until they turned drab-empty. Smiled, like we were still having the time of our life.

B.F.M.

Quiet

Dead sparrow lays quiet,

his fellows pass

the mourning in silence.

B.F.M.

Not Me

Who’d a thought

a broken down mule

would find a home

in tender arms?

B.F.M.

Coming and Going

Willfully I clinched 
two poems
white knuckled tight.

You honeyed my
fingers open.

Two monarchs unleashed
flitted
to purple eyed heliotrope.

B.F.M.