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

stone

a line followed not straight feet hollowed out by the bumps of life

a beat heard faintly like a radio sign from outer space on a kids ham radio

intuition dimmed heavy without direction like broken jade frowning atop the china cabinet

a kiss blown by aging beauty queens to the princess up and coming

young girl twirling on a pole old man staring at her bones she thinks of tea sets and raggedy Ann doll he thinks of the life he once so loved who is buried six feet under

the flowers radiant pinks and red stems green and full of life across a dirty street i sooth dry skin and raise my glass to Martha

who’d a thought

is there such a thing as joy i don’t know what does the experience feel like is it velvety like your graying pubic hairs tickling my back does it taste like your Jack Daniel’s tongue with a Winston smokey chaser down my throat i want to say it looks like your strong rough hands with tiny scars on the tops and intricate lines on the palms of your warrior hands does joy smell like your sweat fossil grease gun powder breeze and the wind of America in your hair i bet joy sounds deep and blue like when you recite beautiful lies in my ears

al otro lado

al cruzar espero nunca regresar

ao atravessar espero nunca mais voltar

at the crossing im expecting never to return

Pic courtesy of Linda G Hill

memorandum

would it make life easier for you if i said outloud what i’d rather just share with you

would it make you a bigger man if i would publish all of my missteps and ineptitudes

do you deserve to know how much you mean to me the tears i’ve shed the drugs i dared to impress you

do you care about my thoughts my feelings my decrees or what i see around this word

if what you want is to fuck and bolt pretend that there was nothing wrong

if all you want is to get a title of renaissance man a golden plaque with gilded letters and pretty words

that’s not really me i’m now buried in a cold dark life locked in under the headstone you chiseled for me etched with nothing meaningful

the will nots

this is your city filled with pigeons dogs and the likes of you children i have bred wild children of the zodiac keepers moon howlers zoo keepers of your selves

pic by mbrazfield (c) 2019

through my gutters there has never been a dainty lady that has crossed i am not bent to subscribe to what chains me daughter here are my children

mural pic’d by mbrazfield (c) 2019

waste makes haste to a life that is riddled by pain we are strong we are one but we can’t be here forever keep me i am your queen little angels in designer jeans

Pic by R Brazfield (c) 2019

forever rip roaring renegade chingona silver screen teen dream exalted to the clouds of gasoline el lay dismay you will not subscribe to fantasy when i am right in front of you

pic by mbrazfield (c) 2020

kleiner clown

stars twinkle quietly pretty shards of diamonds distorted by millions of eons away from my finger tips

surfing in my mind thinking of my mom Lou Reed starts to rise and my heart falls apart

the bitter melancholy comes in sputters black roses start to wilt

thoughts float about in icy sky line no snow or eastern blocks in California

my mother where did she go where was i left to the mercy of the gravity among the milky way

Klaus Nomi sits in shiny triangle black space to my right singing opera lullabies

the water from my eyes wells up but doesn’t spill instead it boils down to dust which i use to bury myself no more lingering on

reading books of talismans in the pitch of the darkest part of night purple pinks blues and blacks

with the soot from the bottom of my foot i draw a wide smile upon the center of my soul

where in daylight for your pleasure will always be radiant

persuaded

the fusillade below my heart signaled a transformation that i hadn’t planned visions of blood fodder fingers crushing the innocence of flowers all for goodness sake further down the tunnels men bent in half praying to their shrink meanwhile ticker sounds of acreage burning does Herod have a bodyguard and the soup kitchen has run out of toe tags can we breath the breeze of ancient orange one last time before the refugees of peace become the next on your waiting list of morally inclined to do whatever to fit into the culture of the day

ain’t what she used to be

in youth i’d run with a pack of wild dogs now they Netflix it

we’d howl at the day and bark at the sun

night time our turn to wag hell out of the city

where did my vicious rockin’ pack go Xerox Corp CEO famous music boys political party hardies Cheetahs lead dancer girl

tax filers line followers at the DMV mimosas on Sundays and tea with the Queen

no more mashing heads smoking drinking or raging party over here throw up over there look out the cops are coming mates!

Ben Gay’s my friend supporting me as i reach to grasp the Prevagen

my leather and spikes traded for breathable organic fabrics and compression socks

alas my lover’s tats aren’t where they used to be but in between snores and farts he says don’t worry babe neither are your tits

longing

on the shore where it is quiet

the people gone for the night

but only the echo of their laughter

tangled up in the ebb and flow of the tides

the foam crackles on the scrumptious sand

my toes drill into the warmth of your shore

a sensualness seeps through the pores of my skin

because that beautiful he moon above me

with glorious pewter rays of light

directs my memories of you

who are of the universe now

i still stand here alone on earth

walking with the sons of Cain

sentenced to miss you exclusively

the twelve golden stars to weep they must

to bear witness of what the polarities

of our world have done to my anemic heart

this land were my feet don’t touch

tell me please what are my charges

will the grains of sand

who lavish in the waters of rebirth

rebuke our love as well

lady Blue release me

to swim about in your sea

and race my soul toward the last sunset