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Brave & Reckless

faces i used to know
dilapidated places
your eyes closed off from me
dull aged bleak sunrises
people crawling neath the spaces
where nothing bad or good can grow

mind poisons pouring over 5G networks
no salvation no protection
hiding the twisted white-hot thoughts
time progresses with no resentments

while nightmares vivid march next to me
living barely on the tombs that lure me
loudly speaking whispers as hell consumes me
madly tearing at the wind above me
the soil beneath me is bled very badly

madness has now become my life’s salvation
city blocks in desolation
void of soul lost reputation
freedom weakens with each reverberation
lock my limbs my mind inserts quotations
where my own words used to have expression

mb was born and raised in urban Los Angeles and is a Gen X’er who chronicles and scrawls about the art form of living in the Angelino metropolitan…

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mbrazfield (c) 2020

there are days not my legs are weak i walk i walk around the city there’s Christmas in my head and the juvenile prophets have an extraordinary urge to tag just any old word on the city walls there are days but i just walk for the sake of walking i have a difficult time noticing the birds because of the writing on the walls and the writing on their face tells the story of how we got to be in this place there are no cherry blossoms no peach trees no lemonade stands this is reality or a reality


mirror in my eyes

i haven’t seen in years

there’s been a silent blindness

blocking off my sight

the heart she braces

my inward glance

poppies gold and red

flicker in the wind

a lock of tender hair

across my face

a smile greets the come what may

pupil to pupil reflecting back

truths in simplicity

hemorrhaging thought

mbrazfield (c) 2020

this thing inside the mind has lost the path of where its from chromosomes in a situation room in outer space the Earth has crowded me

mbrazfield (c) 2020

shit really he says the days of roses haunts me the road to stray is right outside are you sure about that picking sage and ask permission BB King i heard you holler Lucille my love

mbrazfield (c) 2020

strings flap churning trains of thought wishes prayers gone amok by the howling wolf in a poet’s dream the sting of death follows me pluck one then two then three the boy won’t ever find me until he looks inside of him there i will beat pulsing with the flow of light