the thoughts are balled up
pulsating and cruel they come
tonight my eyes weep
Author: mbrazfieldm
just another day
just another day
there are things
that are meant
to he secret
there are codes
that are followed
and no one
knows the meaning
or how the
human drama will
be played out
perhaps there will
be murder or
the sale of
drugs there will
be money to
be made no
matter what the
cost of it
after the viewing of our father
it’s the hour in the rotation of the world when i don’t know why i think and i only hear snippets of what she tells me in between her gulps of coffee it has to be that i’ve lost my mind i think but i’m not sure she continues on to point out how difficult things are and how weak people are and i say they never stop to think that women like us have had it hard she agrees with hot coffee in her throat mid gulp gesturing a resounding yes with her thin eyebrows pointing up like a big foam hand at a baseball game he wanted masculine children and he cried when he had us but we had to be ladies in the midst of manly challenges how the minds were molded i think and i quip out loud there are no real man or woman challenges we get equal problems shoved down our throats and we gotta grow a dick to solve them and then chop it off when we’re done cut us a slit and put on lipstick and smile and stick out our boobs and then take it like a man all over again and again yet i’ve known so many who fold at the slightest breeze of uncertainty
and we laugh at the newest meteor hail storm we’re coasting through i marvel at our ability to be A Lincoln M Monroe J Dillinger and E Roosevelt all in one mind warp to answer and resolve the sums and restitutions owed by our father we are told girls don’t hold a quiver in your voice but it’s expected that when the crowds go home you should wither like a delicate orchid ripped from its stem and i see her from the corner of my eye tired a daddy’s little girl who is now the man of his house a mother and a father to us all she’s tired then i look down at my big boy feet my small girl hands my soldier’s soul my lost spirit angst and it becomes unbearable
vejo o reflexo
vejo o reflexo da minha alma num espelho de facto a dor paira entre o sangue do coração e a electricidade ela olha para mim e aprendo que está tudo bem sentar-se em silêncio por vezes e apenas sentir através
a hora da voz
eu ouço minha voz e me ajude a ouvir as vozes de toda a humanidade
terno
terno como anjos bebês distantes como o sorriso de um mendigo
azuis
hoje meu tristeza venceu vou ficar aqui com minhas irmãs azuis e esperar meu amor na brisa do meio dia
belo
mural artist TANK
você tem tudo agora e eu não sou nada, mas quando suas mãos estiverem cheias de nada minha presença não estará por perto
a selva
como essas flores fluem assim como o oxigenio do meu amor chama
minimalist regrets
to the left or right
you’re not really on our side
where do butterflies
go when they die on fire
hey Joe i heard you were gonna shoot your own country down
deep
breath
eyes
closed
before this moment
i remind me that i’m not enough
it
is
there
tucked
in
the
breath
under
the
waves
disconnection although i never knew what she really felt then the Pantry floats about memories of standing in line on Figueroa at the mouth of downtown when downtown was a city
meadows i see on the packages in the lady business aisle of my regular supermarket
Los Angeles breeze
weary leaves heavy with dust
nails of my fingers
chewed down to bloody chipped stubs
agony and mind control
Diego the flowers
indigenous majesty
from a time before
the conquest of Silicon
with barcodes on their petals
i not ever one to stay settled
not in a chair nor a desk or a flipped car in the middle of the highway
my roots never grew
i stayed for a little while
then climbed on the first wind
that blew through this soul of sand
my grains turned pale gray
tumbling through this earthen hourglass
i write this to myself
at an angle framed by brick weeds and piss the King Eddy has closed
window and door a silent rigor mortis
no more free drinks or musty teamster gropes
skid row catches the eye
twilight lives here day or night
but at times it shimmers
the network of your arms
strong like a cedar tree
fingers from both of our hands
connecting transporting us
they ask why do i cover it
wandering around town
a million thoughts
abstract in their reality
answers but then the questions haunt
im not a fitter in the jigsaw of today
just a wanderer a sorceress with a spray paint can
strayed under the bridges
archangel seal on finger broken twice
between 3 and sunrise shift
my eyes stay wide open
aches of muscle and moments passed
regrets are very minimal
*all lines of this cento are from other works written by mb
words less spoken 