M. Brazfield

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dishonest 

beige
irate
hidden well
within myself
smile rejoice believe
reverberate inside
deeply bury sorrow’s babe
float through imagined normal life
ignore the toxic warnings to be
honest with my pain and let it fly free

to kiss me

silent warm spirit
icy wet sweet poison pot
draw those thoughts from me

fulfillment

aging hand unfolds
soft palm up to the skyline
caressing her past 

~~~

M. Brazfield is a Gen X’er born and raised in Los Angeles, California. She is an untrained writer and enjoys sharing her work on her blog WORDS LESS SPOKEN on Word Press. Her inspiration comes from life in Los Angeles, particularly Downtown.

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Queen Sun

gold hot life

resurrection giver

to sleepy weeds soon turned to flowers

spread queenly ample ultra violet thighs across asphalt parking lot

and in betwixt the cracks of crowded city streets

there too there is growth

nurse mother Sun antiseptic in your love

disease and sorrow annihilator

You smile and wrap around my shoulders through my sagging window

and i thank you

for Chester and Chris

it had been there
just around the corner
behind my left shoulder blade

it stayed through threshold
of the neo natal dawn
new like a kitten’s innocent purr

it was there quiet
like the other side of the edge
of that one last breath

it was there like Los Angeles smoke
silent thick cryptic with danger
then it showed itself to the mirror
of my soul

it moved as a molasses crescendo
choking me
too many door knobs closets
reminders silent distant
but hard hitting cold blade
walk past the hall red couch
sit i do heaved tear monsoons
afraid no more an impossible miracle
chest tight bruised palms
from the terror

vetting contingency plans of how not to let it loose

ueber alles in der Welt

shake well my soul on fire the water gone our words all liars cartoon Sunday morning blues grew up soon code red the rings of things evil we loved you but let’s not forget should not idolize because we’ll fall down first shake well into the eye of the pitch silent universe until the concert of the dawn is birthed with hallelujah meanwhile on Hill and First we cling to silly cardboard laws which are mathless in nature therefore null and void among the Let Us

boomerang

pain
you hang
there like a
hidden stain just underneath
the fragile layer of a
strained mind tormented by you so
help me God if i forget the
alchemical pacifier to keep you satisfied when will
you let me be at times i feel the
joy of any human soul and other times i muster
that stiff upper lip and paddle up the stream with my
own arms on a rice paper raft tied with uncertainty a compass
with no dial and as i look into the arms of setting stars
i drink a breath of victory and pound my chest in good measure but
when my feet sink through the mirage of fortitude of the tenuous craft i see
you flailing back at me and treasure found in my chest of peace engulfed by oppression