partial ballad for Pam and Jim

i once found him looking into my eyes holding my hands
he moved me to live to love to laugh
while the endless hoping
that my days will die fast
fuel the tomorrows that cast me into a grinding trap
i really wish i wouldn’t have to leave and pace back and forth between cold frontiers looking into darkness
the void is left

as limbo and i walk hand in hand exhausted

mbrazfield (c) 2020

hail to R Banks for conceptualizing and making this offering and picture possible love you so much

English class

from the depot 🙂

words less spoken

oh hey teacher no i’m no poet

no need to give
me your Conklin pen

i’m just a kid from down the nickel loud mouth

skidded knees cigarette
boozer

blood upon her
sleeve

reveler of sunsets
procrastinator in the dawn

i am the honey of her thighs

and the pulsing
bang bang of his gun

but hey psssst mister i
ain’t no poet

bawdy as all hell quiet when i need to be

if some angel fell
in hell

i’ll go fetch em’ Darla
Hood impersonator feeler of the waste

inside their eyes
corny graffiti kids

longing for the
it apps to arrive

liquor store dwelling social services auditor

of her majesty the
street but mister

i assure you mister i ain’t no poet

AC/DC cranker upper
Curtis Mayfield fuck play it louder

poker player chopper rider star watcher little fighter

hey man call me
foolish lady riff raff heart

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purgatory

time appears to have gone on forever and there is a big chunk of me whatever i am that has not changed on this day a very long time ago i was granted permission to come into this world to a big city that is just made of legend i learned very quickly that when the sun went down we all bled shit sleep fought hated just like each other no big difference not from the next city over not from the next country over and probably not from other planets today that old cautionary statement we only live above our demons but we never get rid of them swirls in my head i confess at times i don’t know how i think how i see things i don’t even know sometimes if i believe in pain emotional spiritual physical i don’t know the difference at times what does it feel like to be without pain does it feel the same as being in pain don’t know so here i am back at the Cecil Hotel right where i have always been obviously not in body but in soul sometimes when there is no one around to question the fuck out of me and why my face looks or doesn’t look how they want it to look that particular day i wonder am i a ghost i wonder have i been reincarnated i wonder when i look up and down Broadway and Main to the left or to the right and then i look up and turn around and i look at empty shells of buildings where gargoyles used to be decorations masonry ballrooms perhaps so much and then there will be a particular window that enraptures my eyes and i can’t look away and if i squint my third eye i swear i can see her young dark hair big green brown eyes i don’t know what her name would have been maybe Hazel maybe Dorothy who knows not a modern name and then when my third eye blinks she jumps

blackened gold

for R Banks ♤

lips caress
the pain from my mind
blue eyes stroke my dying soul
beneath the surface of the black night
while in the frenzy of Danzig’s song you offer me a sip of water puffing away at native tobacco plucking at Goldie’s chords your life rearranged across your chest just a foreword to the quest that brought us two together

orphan

i often forget his smile the glint of his eyes pulling an old dog eared letter i touch his cursive delicate but unintelligible there are no particular ideas in the tight ringlets of pale black ink his mind was full of scorpions she never returned to him they both mad with ego and one uppance i progeny alone i with a heart full of wasps