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Art
Jesuses and jetfighters
spread the WLS
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
spread the WLS
painful haiku
supple
like
iron
words
hard
as
redwood
branches
hand
heavy
with
hate
mbrazfield (c) 2022
spread the WLS
the therapy tray
you have now become
my comfort fire and scent
watching prayers float
spread the WLS
we
blue sky the roads in your eyes
we smoked
outside after your show
the happy ones laughed and drank
we looked
and sniffed the air filled with LA River scent
we parted
i stayed behind with my pagodas my cheap wine and that g g allin tshirt
spread the WLS
eating my words xvii
spread the WLS
Charlie’s cough
Charlie grew weaker
from the old
1940s window pane
i’d hear him
then one dusk
in September nothing
a few days
passed i rummaged
the building’s trash
casually looking for
unexpected art supplies
it seemed Charlie’s
kin tossed out
everything that he
possessed and of
no advancement for
them pedigreed relatives
yet in my
quest for treasure
troves i found
from Ohio an
old Glessco bottle
spread the WLS
blues under the climb
spread the WLS
slurs of lunatics
at night is when i like to see
all those things that mean to me
the most and yet are so simple
at night is when i like to feel
through those little childish trinkets
the force of the world’s throat
speaking to me
at night is when i like to think
that those ideas imparted through pictures
teach me to be me
at night i sense the echoes
that bounce from my own glass ceilings
suspended by wildflower buttons
and the slurs of lunatics
at night i taste the salt of tears
erupting from the memories
of how i came to be
the keeper of these silly little trappings
words less spoken 