late at night (b)

mbrazfieldm gouache 2020(c)

Sunday with Hank

pain without reason you said i understood immediately but Hank aren’t we born into this situation

forever we seek to understand is pain the ultimate secret knowledge Hank you’re there with Buddha is that what he found

women understand but in the end we are all human what’s between our legs is incidental

i’ve stood on city sidewalks on the streets you’ve lived on and everything is the same the rat race is quiet in most places

i love watching the angels downtown we are a rainbow of gray brown and black

some in the name of ethics money and pretense call it trauma or grieving or processing events

to be beat raped tortured sodomized insulted belittled ignored and cast aside drugged whipped lied to and left to die some of us in shame and lies in the most dangerous of nuclear families

Hank you’ve been away from me remember DeLongpre i used to stay there too and how many more places we have been it’s been so very long

your thoughts and absolute surrender to the madness of our lives you painted beauty in it’s natural form although it wasn’t what they thought

hey baby since you’re up there in the clouds can you ask the Main Man for me when you aren’t too busy now

if the reason for our mortal pain is so we will seek Him out

the water

i cannot bend the water she has a linear will

looks inside my burning soul and snuffs the air from me the water will not bend as black clouds drenched in loss soak up the golden lights

the acids in the wicked hearts will never bend as well they only carve out empty space for bloody floods to fill

i cannot bend the tiny drops forming round my eyes while walking on a ground that screams for me to grind it down

industry analysts of war cell phone master fighters possessive of the scores

i won’t ever be able to bend the water the lusciously maddened by her waves we hunger for some more it’s best to surrender to her cleansing bosom and evaporate into the sandy dunes

gradually

purple lotus scent

the moon doesn’t hide tonight

see the change in time

between grain

there where its black where the seed of my humanness lies where the perpetuation of original sin will continue through my blood line is a photograph

the lens there in is primordial foggy unclear muddied we pick up debris while traveling through the cosmos

in between grains of ink and exposure the sum of me looks for what we all don’t know what to look with

the photo is of a bright yellow God holding me in God hand such as a molecule of mercury can not be contained

and God laughs and rejoices beyond the pale of mere creature understanding the drive when my flash goes boom

how

the things that are not going anywhere in the tunnels of this life

hands tired how to explain the whys of it all

roads paved with loss hey not everything is a party take time feel her out look in eyes that have never cried for herself

what about the cramp in the gut are we starved disgusted crazy or lost

how did we get here were we tricked how in the name of freedom and doing good did i give up the bond to my soul in a most obscene way

how can i teach my brother to fish how can my brother relish what’s his if he is severely sick how can i teach my sister to fight and feel out her heart if we both have to be vetted and protected from each other

R Brazfield (c) 2019 mixed media

traces

the sun she’s sinking down to party in the valley rolling hills full of tumbleweeds thoughts broken desperate for context if only if only if only then there is Sardinia and a dipped toe by a drunken uncle long ago here on the city of angels there city of giants i dig like a gopher i bleed like an ulcer who am i really its no fun to lose your Rhesus at the moment of the light but it has nothing to do with monkey politics i dare say i have no more lice to give

Martin’s song

spiritual hear

the march in our blood listen

dont let our dreams die

cylinders

pic mbrazfield (c) 2020

i

am a

spec inside

fallopian

tubes tied in silence

wandering in sepsis

with no nebula to birth

me in and mold me to be free

wicked cold frozen fire line my

eyes to shut down at dawn’s reverse rising

you my twin enigma engine super

star in brilliant tigress opus

the moon intends to strike upon

weak hands that try to hide her

floating spec dance away

into dead eyed shore

narrow pathway

stray comet

bone star

still

pic mbrazfield (c) 2020

not mainstream

the sun is shy dark weepy sad the red stars on the hipsters Mao bags are dull it is a bazaar of thought living on the tops of the foam of your demon seas rebel rider non Jane Fondaer grown girl he dirty boy military card heir LA west of Hollywood Battleship Potemkin plays let’s go drop bomb on my tongue baby Jimmy Hendrix’s way irony one hundred ways to think that we can go to Sizzler after this and dude your mom has a new car but if i were on that ship ida’ve done the same damn thing he sings to me God Save the Queen and we go fuck behind the dumpster but we can’t seem to fit it in and we go back to talking about politics