The day Bukowski died https://t.co/DoZFfCYgjW
— Charles Bukowski (@bukowski_net) March 9, 2020
Author: mbrazfieldm
shallow breaths
what does rigidity feel like i wonder to not let your spirit fly in your dreams at night to have thoughts stiffly in the back of your head to say curse words at the top of your lungs to keep silent why is that why do it what to lose if only the shackles when my dreams are in joint session with the reality of the sun light i pipe down just a little but then i say what had to be said and i fly away from exploding angry penii used to getting their own way at times it’s true i have to do what if is required in a kicking scratching and fighting kind of way but tonight i party i come and join dream at last when sleep does come and kiss my lips when what we’ve done we’ve done
doin’ my part three
pilgrimage
silence
wet grass
white skies north
sun
hides behind
giggling watches me
scratching
my bean
looking at flowers
signs
blink silently
breakfast served here
air
breathing again
stops to chat
birds
sing replies
air and birds
me
crosswalk speaks
time to change
look
the wealth
staring at me
life
another day
granted to me
gentrification lullaby
pewter
clouds above
five years ago
life was much different
trees lined the children’s laughter
cut
down
for
pricey
empty
unobtainable
homes
doing my part too
we can beat it world ✊🏻
much love
demander au ciel bleu
when my mind was little
the skyscrapers were tall
God was big too
the streets were filled
with faces strong that walked alone in my drowning dreams
the functions of my body not under my control
and when the body seasoned into what men had sought
it was as if a flock of doves had scattered from my soul
the moon was maiden too long before my birth and then was trampled on her light fallen from its grace
but today i read about a boy and trees his looking for the life that did live underneath
the soil of creation and where someday i will be
looking at the captivating blue glass crystal skies waiting for His words
🌠thanks to my friend Stephen @ https://fullbeardlit.org/2020/04/08/along-this-path-a-five-oclock-poem-by-stephen-fuller-with-audio for inspiring this offering
doing my part
good morning Sylvia
unlike swans she said
no gracefulness in the step
should i drink from jars
in other news
rain pitter patters on the window if i look hard enough i can see tiny cat nose triangles and pomegranate shaped paw prints and another angel died
the high school music class saxophone huffs through into my room and the virtual eight grade students cheap ass marijuana wafts in too while another angel dies
the mayor explains how critical the strain is on the county and how we hold hands and fight from our couch as another angel died
the smell of my books and the pills that i took colors of my mind are tired and somber angels dying left and right
ventilators generators procreators thieves and hope beauty mud Your Kingdom come and another angel died
and if i make it past this trip i’ll still click on channel blank brains and angels will still die
words less spoken 