in the beginning was the word
as i unfold beneath my mother’s water
there i am suspended
in the middle of my death
beneath the water
where the all of my love
must now reside
beneath the water
and i heard the wind say
twixt the trees and the bush
and the word was with Him only
then my father spoke prickly and grotesque a gruesome eye opening
black doves in the dream led something in me to scream beneath that water
when that something of a passing breeze separated from the flesh of me
it said that the word was God
and i chose to fall back beneath that dark blue water
while upon my dubious rising
my arms stretched out
to the sinking of the sun
Author: mbrazfieldm
vos lèvres
thin and cold
red where i bit them
the whisker burn on my chin
your grip around the small of my back
tightens like a snake while wet drunken bitter blood tinged lips suckle the wilderness from mine
pajarito
little brown tuft
soaking in the rain
sad hibiscus tree is bare
tiny yellow beak pecking at stars
puffing his mottled gray chest the soaking wet wings take rise to nest in solitude deeper in the mountain
fragile
so fragile
the breath from my heart
only nature knows why Earth
has swallowed us whole into a fog
of tormented yellow grief that lingers there as a dying waxless flame
dans mon trésor
line
off the sand dirt tarmac wacks ready of the yet not a time for happy let ye olden wire zap the conscience to open the eye to come what may if knees are to be bent bend to Who saves the soul in the alley no one’s told if what when why how could they for what vision yourself fluffy cloud grandmother’s pie in the morgue of our contrition emergency suddenly emergency was were we not official then just continue to wash your hands
when will will learn
it has been there since David’s death truth mercifully laid out
just and only human not chosen by anyone
born of lust that’s it nothing more than that
you’re lying to yourself aren’t you tired
no ornament jewel pedigree or endorsement can change that
if anything extraordinarily unimportant is what you are
get it through your head the fact is not out there it’s in front of your face
smile why don’t you talk in pretty words give the bestest blow jobs to him to him you are just a convenient commodity
with willing open legs spare me those perfectly rolled tears as you hope that someday he’ll take your hand instead
dull minded old girl your will is not your own buck up
it starts with one step then two and so forth out from the world into your house where your will waits for you to open your heart
and for once let it swallow you whole
one day in January
hush she coos
the west is nearing
the sky leaves sullen traces
angels weep a tepid rain over
graves of stoney colored flowers too wounded to proceed wherein
dogs of the 90’s
Spare Cock Amos had gone to Vegas for the weekend. I had his room all to myself if I wanted to stay there. I decided that this time I would play house.
Jeremiah was a bullfrog, etc. The song oozled out of the broken down radio. First the laundry. I put in the entire box of Tide; when Tide just smelled like Tide. I spent my roll of quarters doing one load. The suds were kinda’ thick. Drying was still a dime so I was successful at that.
Heading back to the room Bryan Boyle was waiting outside of SC’s room. He was sweaty and lost.
“Hey.”
“Oh is Amos here, I gotta talk to him bad. I need to talk to him, is he here?”
“Naw.”
“Fuuuuuccccckkkkkk, whadda ya mean he ain’t here, I need to talk to him!”
“Sorry man, he’s gone for the weekend. I’m just crashin’ before I take off. Heidi’s home though she might be able to help.”
I walked into the room and placed the clean linens on an old arm chair. Bryan had teleported off into outer space universe open wide on this arm chair on other occasions.
Turning to listen with intent to the guy on the radio drinking his bullfrog friend’s wine, I couldn’t help but wonder if Heidi had an arm chair too. Heidi despised me on account I couldn’t like her the way she wanted me to.
I got around to changing the bed and dusted some picture frames. Amos came from a good looking family. Groaning and door slamming could be heard. Heidi refused Bryan. I should have told him not to mention my name.
Joy to the fishes. The chair bothered me. It was the junk bunk. I rode it myself a few times. I felt shame. This shame was different than the other shame. The one you feel over something that happened that you couldn’t prevent. The chair, the junk, the Cecil were preventable. I had chosen to fuck up. I wondered what kind of shame Bryan felt, if any.
Bang, bong, ping, bap.
“Heeeyyy! Open the door that bitch called the cops!!”
Sheepish creak.
“Sorry man.”
Bryan sobbed and with his back to the door frame just slid down to the floor.
“I give up.” He slobbered.
“Dude, man you’ll be ok.”
I knelt beside him. His surfer shirt torn at the hems. Little yellow and pink hula girls and turquoise surfboards 3D’ed at me like flashing acid.
My heart broke as tears rolled down his chubby baby cheeks. The rain finally came. We both perked up at the opened window at the end of the hallway. Wet concrete and drunk piss wove an aromatic melody. Joy to Bryan and a little to me. City rain; we knew it well.
We talked on the floor for hours. Just about dreams and normal things and rock and roll. Sure he picked at his arms and cried a little here and there, but Bryan lived a little.
my way…
spare cock Amos had gone to Vegas for the weekend i had his room all to myself if i wanted to stay there i decided that this time i would play house
Jeremiah was a bullfrog etc the song oozled out of the broken down radio first the laundry i put in the entire box of Tide when Tide just smelled like Tide i spent my roll of quarters doing one load the suds were kinda’ thick drying was still a dime so i was successful at that
heading back to the room Bryan Boyle was waiting outside of sc’s room he was sweaty and lost
“hey”
“oh is Amos here i gotta talk to him bad i need to talk to him is he here”
“naw”
“fuuuuuccccckkkkkk whadda ya mean he ain’t here i need to talk to him”
“sorry man he’s gone for the weekend i’m just crashin’ before i take off Heidi’s home though she might be able to help”
i walked into the room and placed the clean linens on an old arm chair Bryan had teleported off into outer space universe open wide on this arm chair on other occasions
turning to listen with intent to the guy on the radio drinking his bullfrog friend’s wine i couldn’t help but wonder if Heidi had an arm chair too Heidi despised me on account i couldn’t like her the way she wanted me to
i got around to changing the bed and dusted some picture frames Amos came from a good looking family groaning and door slamming could be heard Heidi refused Bryan i should have told him not to mention my name
joy to the fishes the chair bothered me it was the junk bunk i rode it myself a few times i felt shame this shame was different than the other shame the one you feel over something that happened that you couldn’t prevent the chair the junk the Cecil were preventable i had chosen to fuck up i wondered what kind of shame Bryan felt if any
bang bong ping bap
“heeeyyy open the door that bitch called the cops”
sheepish creak
“sorry man”
Bryan sobbed and with his back to the door frame just slid down to the floor
“i give up” he slobbered
“dude man you’ll be ok”
i knelt beside him his surfer shirt torn at the hems little yellow and pink hula girls and turquoise surfboards 3d’ed at me like flashing acid
my heart broke as tears rolled down his chubby baby cheeks the rain finally came we both perked up at the opened window at the end of the hallway wet concrete and drunk piss wove an aromatic melody joy to Bryan and a little to me city rain we knew it well
we talked on the floor for hours just about dreams and normal things and rock and roll sure he picked at his arms and cried a little here and there but Bryan lived a little
intervals in session
the reason:
the lighthouse built in 1874 and lit the same year stood like a resplendent bride against the blue and lavender aging father sky giving her away the edge was just there one four inch move and then
the back story:
i would gulp my chocolate milk shake with my little fat legs dangling from the counter stools peering down at the green and white checker board linoleum floor
an hour before the reason:
with the wind blowing in my ear i catch a few notes of “House of the Rising Sun” emanating from somewhere in the bowels of the tightly knit drunken biker crowd
trigger A:
child-hood memories float slowly into my head as i breathe deeply the Pall Mall smoke wafts by intermingled with the sea weedy odor from below the cliff
the back story’s back:
my mind wandered again into my mother’s ghost i loved studying her design patterns thousands of silk spools and the sequins and crystals God’s firmament in my mother’s house
smiling at Dr. Pang:
i loved to listen to my mother talk in that sophisticated German accent for most of my life she was as far away from me as the horizon i was looking at now
good Samaritan getting complicated:
a scratchy voice tore at the rice paper breeze midway he turned back to look at me and blew me a kiss as he melted into the small crowd
flat lips move at Dr. Pang:
my mother whipped me with yellow nylon rope every time she struck me on the legs thighs or torso the rope would welt up my skin and leave a red hot sting i could move but i didn’t
trigger B:
later that rainy night i awoke in the lobby from a very young age i discovered that an aching soul however would need a stronger analgesic
eclipsed mental decomposure:
i squeezed the memory out of my mind and as i removed my fingers from my eyelids a most beautiful black canopy covered the sky as diamond stars throbbed simultaneously i focused and marveled at such beauty it still causes such wonder in me to remember the night that the moon ate the dark
Dr. Pang concerned at the options:
for years i only spoke if spoken to and i kept my answers to only seven words or less i counted them i laugh about it now i was like Coppola’s Kilgore surfing through my own metaphoric napalm bombs
breakthrough perhaps:
she cut me up and sewed me back together again in her way the welts on my body were the fibers of strength that have helped me endure physical pain her harsh words were the sleeves and pant legs covering me protecting me from infinite poisonous tongues her rejection and unfair judgments were the thread holding me together when life’s sharp scissors cut into me
words less spoken 