Especially in fading nighttime hours

distance oozes,

seeps sticky thick,

as if never to depart.

I crave it’s death.

BAF

Dark night riding.

Silence abounds.

How did we get here?

How do we leave?

Dark night riding

used to be a better time,

used to be faster.

brighter,

less silent.

BAF

Night Hates Snow

Crashing the snow blower into these white walls of purgatory,

I’m reminded of empty winter nights

you crashed my senses into loneliness unthinkable,

anger unimaginable,

hopelessness unprecedented.

Perhaps it is street lights current bouncing

dull-tinted rays off pure whiteness

that transports my mind to regrettable hours

sat alone at a dining room table otherwise unused,

smoking cheap cigarettes one upon another,

taste going unnoticed,

motion more addictive,

hand to mouth, flick,

hand to mouth, flick—

a necessary distraction to emptiness trapped in walls,

to disturbing stillness of nights

abandoned by all but the discarded.

Or perhaps it is boots crushing snow

that sets into motion your black hair agonizingly seductive,

your walk elegantly evil,

your fingers impossibly agile,

your smile enticing the unknown.

You’re still as dangerous as this snow.  

BAF

My Children Know All That I Am

My children know all that I am.

Car ride.

Roadblock.

Gift giver.

Source of pain.

Sounding board.

Face of rage.

Rock to stand on.

Wave of change.

Bodyguard.

Enemy.

Patron of favors.  

Dream killer.

Mower of lawns.

Scooper of snow.

Maker of meals.

Folder of clothes.

Dog poop eraser.

Shoelace master.

Swing pusher.

Slide catcher.

Alcohol detector.

Shoulder to cry on.

My children know all that I am.   


BAF