64

mbrazfield (c) 2020

we’ve always been

mbrazfieldm (c) 2020

how much more time

mbrazfieldm (c) 2019

cylinders

pic mbrazfield (c) 2020

i

am a

spec inside

fallopian

tubes tied in silence

wandering in sepsis

with no nebula to birth

me in and mold me to be free

wicked cold frozen fire line my

eyes to shut down at dawn’s reverse rising

you my twin enigma engine super

star in brilliant tigress opus

the moon intends to strike upon

weak hands that try to hide her

floating spec dance away

into dead eyed shore

narrow pathway

stray comet

bone star

still

pic mbrazfield (c) 2020

Bell and Howell

pic by mbrazfield (c) 2020

the sun slides down

lays her golden head

on Dodger mountain

i look around the apartment

notice that i don’t have much

just a few books

electronic essentials

some cooking utensils

work files and water color trays

an old nonoperational

Bell and Howell

and i wonder

was it ever

my intention

to live like an old

widowed bitter sailor or

to be a neat little wife

to have douching schedules

and cook kosher Shabbat dinners

and worship at the west side Temple

roll with the punches like ladies do

claw at my chest with dignity

and gasp at the lukewarm horror

that Stanley cheated on Sherryl

while my praised dentist husband

works her very late most nights

or was it ever my intention

to be rich and famous

with lovers of all intersections

and gleefully snort exuberant amounts of blow

while getting handcuffed away to the station

wearing my sexy Nirvana ripped collar t shirt

now stuffed away in my mid week LA night

freckled with hoarse tooting car horns

and blinking half dead street lights

i breathe deeply and smile

wondering what my intentions

will be when i grow up

and painfully emancipate from this

spiritually bereft confusing mess

that squeezes me tight

as she coyly stands

quietly in front of

that old thrift store

Bell and Howell

a.d. Friday 12.27 (b)

street mural five
street mural six
street graffiti art one

a.d. friday 12.27

street mural one
street mural two
street mural three
street mural four

love letter to Allen

hi

Allen

it’s me the

kid who read you

too early in her life and yelped before

the howl can’t you see i really love you

i’m a boy in

a body

of a

girl

me

i had

a mother

too she was gone

but until now i can’t write her poems

easing her death for me lost in the fog

can i be a

blue sailor

with you

and

sweep

across

this world to

hear the voices

louder in our heads and words seeping through

the Hebrew ghosts of our mothers’ tears for

a life torn to

tiny bits

too small

to

pick

up and

put back on

the shelf of show

Allen did we get old in babyhood

is that why passion runs lukewarm tempests

i’m fading in

my only

land

where

copper

painted god

children played with

the sun and all her golden sisters too

before the bearded strangers came with the

ships and fools to

drown in pools

of their

own

made

sorrow

tonight i

want to drink to

you the man i love and sip from your mind

the dirty thoughts the ones with guys and all

that comes with them

if i can

only be

a

mere

armpit

hair of yours

and see what you

have seen and hear the howling of the fears

that haunt all men to their torment in life

so poorly lived

and here i

am for

you

can i be your spirit animal, Mr. Ginsberg?

recusants you and i

pic by mbrazfield (c)2019

night drive slow speed

body tired windows bleed

city light a million times

soul sucker dynamite

blare the sin out from below

steel cold brick you sunk me

my fingers crooked now

with the countdown of this town

but don’t underestimate

the heart mine least of all

look me in the silence of that eye

i dare you to deny

that after you’ve torn

us both down

spit on our ancient right

that a tree of force will not emerge

from where my human blood’s been shed

from where my love everlasting powerful

and pure will for all of time

triumph over you

and our perversions

an LA woman

Pic by mbrazfield (c) 2019

im no different

i too bleed

i too drink

i too breath

i too think

i too speak

i can wear

a suit and

shiny diamond rings

i can fuck

a woman or

a man if

i want when

i want there

is plenty to

go around in

this town i

can steal beg

borrow die live

catch a disease

have a cock

sewn on or

my pussy stitched

shut i can

love and hate

worship and sin

i get tickets

and big debt

i can write

and wait tables

sell the story

make you cry

or laugh depending

on how i

feel about it

i too can

show passion for

the things that

make society gag

i can figure

things out for

myself and buy

a house and

marry three men

i can walk

the streets alone

very late at

night and see

the children writhing

engulfed in their

pain euphoric to

the all great

equalizer who comes

when she wants

only and claims

those who have

had no time

i can watch

sit back relax

or run scared

out of my

head from the

boogey man or

woman you can

be just as

oppressive baby don’t

tell me no

look in my

eyes my queen

i give you

a description of

your cloudy soul

i can fight

but there are

some things that

i will die

for and won’t

think twice about

it my freedom

my voice and

right to be

me not a

victim or a

trophy i refuse

to be shackled

by diagnosis political

label or join

the sorority of

hypocrisy and vanity

yes i am

a woman free

now i understand

when i got

called rock headed

it served to

break that glass

ceiling and shoot

me to the

infinate frontier of

my own agency

my own democracy

i follow my

drum and i

will share all

with my sisters

but i will

never apologize for

who i am

how i am

what i am

why i love

when i go

where i stand

in this anthem

i proclaim equality