a.d. sunday 8.11 (c)

street art

photo by m. brazfield

street art

photo by m. brazfield

street mural nine

photo by m. brazfield

street mural ten

photo by m. brazfield

street mural eleven

photo by m. brazfield

street mural twelve

photo by m. brazfield

street art

photo by m. brazfield

some time back on Franklin ave.

i love it when youre mad at me

and i try to lick your salty nipple

as you mutter in uncertainty

in between gulps of rye

i love it when we play house

you smack my ass

unzip your pants

and demand me to please

i love it when you ask of me

about politics and i say

i dont know i cant relate

but ive got to go and serve

the broken today

i love it when you yell at me

i shoot to the moon smiling

nodding on the fourth

like when Idris met Azrael

it breaks my heart

to come home

while youre lying on the floor

Gulliver tied down by

tiny airport bottles

i hate it when

i make you cry

after my lips no longer blue

call out your name

right before vomiting

my weakness you on your back

cock hard me on top

losing myself without regard

but right before

i come bouncing back to you

turning my tide

your palms on my thighs

laughing as we die

cover my eyes on your way out

it hurts me when i know

that i will be leaving

in a few hours to get away

from you

ill really miss

that ethereal tiny kiss

gifted from you to me

upon my forehead

when you asked to marry me

there really is no comfort

knowing that i love you

two grotesquely beautiful

liars contending

upon the mirrors of our eyes

orthopraxy 261

containment is necessary if life is to be kept in the outskirts of ethical veils a true man is often deceiving to himself let the mirror lead us to the kneeling chamber pure blue get a clue im not in soft cookie scented pajamas anymore woman whore all the more follow that fellow he knows where to score and take a tissue for the blood ransacked of the floods of dignity dispelled in drought of love freedom the cosmetic side free of pungent primordial scent does not an anchor serve to preserve what we claim is precious fight snot nose kid get out if you don’t like it accident of lust and loss of mind what we want is not what we sought after hear the engines grind Chopin rings in the ear of what was innocent for only days and then the angels of carnality lead the way to where her wings allegorically to be ripped of the whipping back of martyrs run pretty momma go around shes ready gotcha little cunt face first chipped tooth kiss the feet of the Queen of Angels and the DAs assistant can scrape evidence from broken fingers after the appropriate forms have been signed

in plain sight

humming birds cooed outside your tiny trailer

not a coincidence

French café table coffee can ash tray

the drying bamboo shoots

tender green leaves into the cool air

some nights looking

out from the yellow laundry room window

the sparks from the

slender lit cigarette mimics the fire flies

that live in

the imagination of a confused neglected child

old brown eyes know

they are watched and relish the thought

haiku for Mark

grey eyes open shirt

i want you tonight lover

luck whistled on by

atmospheric tiramisu

that Friday had been particularly rough my science teacher Mrs. Thorndyke must’ve been on the rag or something i’m not even sure why i went to school that day i guess i just needed the routine life was unraveling all over me my folks money politics and a robust octopus demon had it’s addiction tentacles around by mind i felt heavy lost i wanted to make it all go away if i got a gold fish took out the trash make dad a clay ashtray maybe if i behaved but my check engine light had been flashing for almost two years now

i walked around downtown til i hit Main street i was too tired to go to the nickel besides i knew Taino wasn’t home i didn’t trust sitting in the lobby of the King Edward by myself i had a feeling i went up to the roof of the Cecil i was a runt back then no one knew i was alive the sky was baby blue like a Joe Jackson song and right where the mountain crests with the horizon an atmospheric tiramisu of different colored smogs

looking down at the sidewalk on Main i would count the people coming in and out of the lobby i remember thinking these must be really happy folks well mannered with nice houses and lawns and supper my mind began to wander my body relaxed i wasn’t comparing or analyzing anymore i was just of the moment alone face to face with my 17 years of invisibility of course i thought about jumping but that streak of rebel pomposity fed by my love of the Sex Pistols thought jumping off the roof would be utterly trite

thank goodness for my photographic memory finger tips without having to shift my eyes from the helicopters pigeons and flag poles i reached into my book bag and fished out the Ritalin pills that soothed me when i felt like curling up and sucking my thumb in about half hour or half day the lines blurred i was thinking about the news and the Contras Viet Nam vets and crack cocaine i thought about how many homeless people there were and the crips and the bloods and everyone in between

nowadays i often think of that Friday and i wonder what would have become of me if i had been a popular girl a girly girl a girl whose parents were proper closet alcoholic church goers conscious voters PTA joiners and i wore dresses and never took anything stronger than grape juice but we were not like that no one was ever like that in truth we were all just ragers in our own way

my daydreams about the world its wars and LA were just smoke and mirrors to hide from what would inevitably be an incredible ride into familiar unknowns of wanting to die and fly and vomit and binge and fuck and love and cry and laugh and feel whole

Promote a Poet/Writer Thursday | August 15, 2019

Go Dog Go Café

Promote a Poet.Writer Thursday

Welcome to Promote a Poet/Writer Thursday! This is the day of the week where all members of the Go Dog Go Café Community are invited to introduce a Poet or Writer they enjoy reading.

Participating is really fast and simple- in the comments below, post the link for the Home Page of the Poet/Writer you are introducing to us and tell us briefly why you think they are special.

We encourage all of you to visit these blogs (or social media pages) and get acquainted with some great new writers.  You never know who you might meet. . .

Happy reading!

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August: submissions still open

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

Hello!

If you’re worried you may have missed the chance to submit a piece to Free Verse Revolution this month, do not fear, submissions are still open!

I only have six more spots and I would love to fill them with writers the readers here on Free Verse Revolution know and love. If you have submitted regularly before and you are interested, drop me an email at myscreamingtwenties@gmail.com to reserve a spot.

If you are new and this is your first time submitting, please follow the guidelines below:

August’s theme is Chance.

Send your submissions to myscreamingtwenties@gmail.com

I accept poetry and short prose; pieces may be previously published.

Format: pieces should be attached via email as either a Word or Google doc. If you wish to send an accompanying image, attach this separately.

Author bio: if this is your first time submitting work for consideration, include a short biography and…

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Dr. Spock forgot to mention

launch

painful

fists at me

i don’t care that

it leaves a blue mark

i’ll just put ice on it

besides skin gets tougher with

time and i’ve got lots of it to

have patience and learn from your mistakes

take it out on me whip the love i have

for you into hell i won’t need it much

just don’t tell me that i’m useless rot

your tongue has a way of killing

a wide eyed love i have for

myself and the Spirit

and it will only

cause my will to

chase demons

in the

dark

R 12:9 to 13

the wood peels from the shanks of the inside of the ghost temptation rots teeth grind in the daymare of desperate desire the room with no view the floor is on fire and the sea she is angry boiling up to the chair of judgment it’s not your time yet the mistress and her kin invade my gossypium cabin fever out i say no room in my nightmare you would not understand day three the muscles stalactites reaching up to a god out to lunch remember holy time is different than human seven heads are better than none my hands in outer space the heart percolates in mother’s Turkish coffee pot ssshhh she doesn’t know licking out to anything that moves without a pulse to send some help a little bump a little drop a little cup to ease lubricate the crumbling road to the reality of seals breaking slowly