Art

owl

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments

it’s metal cold in the room stings the surface of the skin a little cheeks flushed 104 degrees cotton fever nothing new thoughts of owls race through the mind far away New Mexico hills in a trip that failed to yield once what was expected seconds hop scotch off the arms of the clock apparitions in white cheap cotton come to check numbers and pulses disgust visible on the face like dust on grandma’s table the owls again the color of wild grain bare footed running with the breeze and the bugs birds of all congregations there to sing solitary ears robbed it’s cold please don’t leave but please don’t touch the New Mexican hills spread out Triple A magazine cover left in the lobby by the father who lost his son the owl took him the Yaqui say fever breaks gauzy cloak frosted from the sin and ignorance lips shiver pale so pale and deformed thirsty for baptismal waters wild wild girl the apparitions come on time oh no it’s her again when will she die my taxes deserve to pay better societal debts please don’t touch the owl she’s my mother looking at me hoot hoot hoot synapse without soul blood without spirit apparition grab the leg and tug cruelly get up it groans tax liability get’s up roughly like a broken transmission New Mexican hills will not be reached like that good bye owl

mbrazfield (c) 2020 gouache on paper

meine patina

/ mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments
mbrazfield 2019 (c) gouache on paper

Buk it’s 2020

my hero Hanky baby

and i’m still alive

these last few days

i’ve surveyed her face

our whore saint city

don’t fret she loves us still

these last few days

i’ve driven by

the schools i’ve been in

i don’t remember a damned thing

my first day of pre school

i was late

on account my dad had to wait

in the Mobil lines for five hours

hey Buk

do you remember

these last few days

every grade year the same old shit

the Pilgrims the marches the maths the farces

the Nina the Pinta the Santa Maria

Sesame Street Hee Haw Fat Albert and Lawrence Welk

and by the time Ronnie Raygun came around

i was branded diagnosed exposed and pigeonholed

the patina of fine psychobullshitary

casted on my soul

these last few days

intuitively speaking Buk

i don’t feel its right to blame

after all i have a conscience

id ego and a touch of naughtiness too

i don’t want to go down that way

remember the time over on Las Palmas Ave

when i called the principal

the devil’s panty liner

i had more class

than to just call her a knit wit

verbal theatrics have been

my little blue bird

these last few days

my bones hurt more

i linger by the antioxidants

and pay some attention

to the collagen talks

my hair line fractures

from the days of Face

are bald and angry

so i take turmeric supplements

during the day

these last few days

the stains of my sins

are rinsing away

leaving a fall hued patina

glazed on my spirit

these last few days Buk

the beer bottles on the streets

cigarette butts and paper sheets

blowing in the wind

make me feel sentimental

where has most of my life gone

is this what happiness is

to feel the bumps upon my skin

the knuckles of my hands

being cupped by my finger tips

as i walk under the bridge

where the many roads

to numbness took me

these days i swear Buk

i have felt

an orgasmic magnificence

flow through my veins

but there are still

some challenges

flores

/ mbrazfieldm / 14 Comments

me

staring

silently

at sun flowers

floating in their pot

enjoying golden warmth

while birds chirp a symphony

the heavy heart looking at them

wondering where time went yesterday

my eyes know that i too will wither soon

gouache on paper mbrazfield (c) 2019