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
alone in the company of droves
of other discarded lonely vagabonds
from what i gathered
love had stopped rooting at the dunes
when i finally got there
Author: mbrazfieldm
the other stars
at night with the party of stars
the stars in the sky i mean
i sit in quiet tender happiness
on the summer eve sidewalk of Sunset and Vine
my eyes scan the shoes
some old some new
there is history in the step
some style some regrets
at night when traffic dies
buses groan and open their doors
warm freon stink hisses
no one exits they just sit
my hands play
with blue Bic pens and loose sheets
their surface wrinkled tears
happiness of simple truths recorded there
at dawn barley curtains fall
the stars have took their bows
coffee’s bitter cocoa moan
stirs my knees and center
in the newness of the old city yawn
where i died lived and was born
onto this place where my soul has soaked in this world is my happiness
defectors of defeat
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
–A Farewell to Arms (1929)
i not ever one to stay settled
not in a chair nor a desk or a flipped car in the middle of the highway
i not ever one to cry fold up or whimper after the first punch slap or ranting curse
gables decisions transfers petitions bus stops late nights running away to dark alleys
broken arms scraped face bloody nose bruised halo twisted wing midnight summer clouds intrigued
books parks veterans of various fights teachers preachers women brothers fractured holy lives
war with peace along the edge we’re marched too soon where time has earned the essence of our hands yet not the moxie of the spirit
invitation
soft pink petals
wooden table top
lay there limp
looking up silently
at spinning fans
dried tired knuckles
on sore thighs
immobile in exhaustion
thinking there quietly
about roses aging
spirit’s sweet scents
mingling with walls
a memory landscape
then passing birds
bless the skies
curtains stay open
Diego the flowers
Diego the flowers
that you painted on the backs
of golden skinned girls
farmed in mass inside buckets
now sold by broken old men
Diego the flowers
bloom no longer green and grain
just soak in buckets
on sides of freeway exits
food colored twisted blossoms
Diego the flowers
indigenous majesty
from a time before
the conquest of Silicon
with barcodes on their petals
tanka for Anne Boleyn
in my head i’ll stay
the queens always lose their heads
heaven in her eyes
just before the tragedy
angels swoop to catch her soul
eating my words [xv]
murky
did not from the man i come
the rib to be exact
and when i die
you’ll lay me to rest
like broken asphalt
why is there only reverence
when in my place i stay
across this she world
from hut to home
but when i dare to steer
a clippership and wear that big hat
even my mother hits back
we cant free the goddesses
with the same keys
used to lock up their minds
prodigal tanka
*to Rob
nature in your soul
the light in your heart brightens
frozen in the wind
in low valleys of my world
your blue starlight captures me
doc is gone
Los Angeles breeze
weary leaves heavy with dust
nails of my fingers
chewed down to bloody chipped stubs
agony and mind control
words less spoken 