Poetry

some time back on Franklin ave.

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

i love it when youre mad at me

and i try to lick your salty nipple

as you mutter in uncertainty

in between gulps of rye

i love it when we play house

you smack my ass

unzip your pants

and demand me to please

i love it when you ask of me

about politics and i say

i dont know i cant relate

but ive got to go and serve

the broken today

i love it when you yell at me

i shoot to the moon smiling

nodding on the fourth

like when Idris met Azrael

it breaks my heart

to come home

while youre lying on the floor

Gulliver tied down by

tiny airport bottles

i hate it when

i make you cry

after my lips no longer blue

call out your name

right before vomiting

my weakness you on your back

cock hard me on top

losing myself without regard

but right before

i come bouncing back to you

turning my tide

your palms on my thighs

laughing as we die

cover my eyes on your way out

it hurts me when i know

that i will be leaving

in a few hours to get away

from you

ill really miss

that ethereal tiny kiss

gifted from you to me

upon my forehead

when you asked to marry me

there really is no comfort

knowing that i love you

two grotesquely beautiful

liars contending

upon the mirrors of our eyes

in plain sight

/ mbrazfieldm / 7 Comments

humming birds cooed outside your tiny trailer

not a coincidence

French café table coffee can ash tray

the drying bamboo shoots

tender green leaves into the cool air

some nights looking

out from the yellow laundry room window

the sparks from the

slender lit cigarette mimics the fire flies

that live in

the imagination of a confused neglected child

old brown eyes know

they are watched and relish the thought

Zorya

/ mbrazfieldm / 7 Comments

there she is

bright bold with golden arms

the lady who comes to purify my blood

just 2 hours and 34 minutes in the past

did the he moon with his mariachi suit

cry with me because he is a gentleman

we had clinked tequila glasses

while he kissed my hands

but with each step Zorya takes toward my window

i’ve come to prefer the strong espresso roast

dark heavy smoldering like your heart

you prefer to sleep

after quaking and quivering through my mounds

and when your eyes come open wide your armor

will cover you again

as i remain the faithful wench

in the china cup where the gold has chipped off

filled with mud and some manipulative tears

my cigarette will drown in sorrow

so i walk into the bathroom

to wash your sheep’s odor

off my she wolf fur

English class

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

oh hey teacher no i’m no poet

         no need to give me your Conklin pen

i’m just a kid from down the nickel loud mouth

     skidded knees cigarette boozer

         blood upon her sleeve

reveler of sunsets  procrastinator in the dawn

i am the honey of her thighs

       and the pulsing bang bang of his gun

    but hey psssst mister i ain’t no poet

bawdy as all hell quiet when i need to be

      if some angel fell in hell

i’ll go fetch em’  Darla Hood impersonator   feeler of the waste

      inside their eyes corny graffiti kids

         longing for the it apps to arrive

liquor store dwelling social services auditor

      of her majesty the street  but mister

i assure you mister i ain’t no poet

     AC/DC cranker upper Curtis Mayfield fuck play it louder

poker player chopper rider star watcher  little fighter

     hey man call me foolish   lady riff raff   heart on fire

          but hey seriously   i am what He says i am

            so yeah mac i ain’t no poet

my Paul

/ mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments

just tonight can we stare at the lamp lights

     gleaming on the surface of the puddles in the street

tonight ange triste will you stand still

    so as to peer upon your waifly silhouette

without it floating from my bandaged hands

    can i be your Paul and place my ear atop your heart

and etch in little kisses i love you on the

renegade palpitations there about

       tonight no wine no smokes no laughing hard

no sucker punches no living the life no mosher pits

                   no altered minds

      just a little silence with you ange betwixt my arms

instead of me amidst your legs  

    you don’t always have to run away   scared little bird

pecker and picker of my nerves  and priestess of my vacuumed        

                        universe 

    one time before i leave and i lose you to the vampires

middle c

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

when the dirt on my shoes

starts to click the pavement

i go to the park

pray to the squirrels

bow to the trashcan

gambling that at the bottom

will be a half eaten idea

that i can sell

when the anger in my soul

starts to pound out my heart

i go to that tent

beg to the man

bow to the pipe

give away the music in my bones

for a hope that i will stop the pain

when there is a nowhere and no rainbow

and my shadow trades places with me

i go in my head

get lost in the wave

of no way out symphonies

so i turn in for the day

to welcome in the tepid night

and wait for that clicking to begin

red eagles on Matthias’ arms

/ mbrazfieldm / 12 Comments

she stands in the night

quiet in the day swaddling my thoughts

through her windows that have seen moons

peeked at by La Baker and the dust bowl troops

the starlight beaming on my smoke rings

and the ancient flower wall cover

comes alive again crawling with suspicions

Perry Como and at times Lead Belly

fill my ears until they bloom

so coursing through my veins

the bewitching compounds of soul kill

silver on the mirror fades away

and in tandem we float away together

the me on the chair mustang hair gray

the me in the glass chipping off her hours

before my lids close

the pupils pin catch a brown fluffy moth

clutching with sticky little feet

to rusty rain gutters that hang

to her bricked flanks by grace and bliss

i hear the moth breathing in out in out

to the rhythm of surreal electric sweaty nights

but JESUS SAVES only twice

as Papa and i drink absinthe and champagne

restraining order blues

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

vicious gunfire you look older she said

i thought i’d never see you again

you look beautiful he said

coughing looking leftward

i’ve been here and there she said

roaming the streets counting the birds

magnolia trees sure bloom a lot he said

yeah their scent intoxicates me she said

can i get a cuddle he said

she smiles and looks westward

sliding hair behind her ears

your gray streak is bomb ass she said

my ex-wife likes it he said

i gotta go i’m late for church she said

balls! gimme something better than that he said

they both laughed out loud

biting her lips heart in her head

i wish i could kiss you she said

that was the past

the clove under her worn white converse

stuck to the sole and toes still wiggling

as the clouds formed from the south

he folds in his lips and gives her a smile

i wanted to be your husband he said

she lights up another

you were always so wild he said

i don’t like cages or negotiations she said

life is not like that he said

let me give you my number

she feels the droplets on her lashes first

honey don’t waste it she said

your time on me

i’m older and wiser

some truths i can see

i had to walk away for the sake of us both

looking at the lake he nods in agreement

have a nice life he gnarls as he scampers away

she holds her head higher after today

cicatriz de estrella

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

triste Celedonia

alma de ave

flor que deslumbra al sol

guardiana de tus dioses

tus remedios tu dolor

cuando llegaste a este mundo

tu alma marcada con cicatriz de estrellas

tener que dejar a tus valles ríos y montanas

tus lumbres tus plantas tus mañas

toda la magia heredara no te la puedes llevar

al cruzar al este mundo mecánico y vacio

todos tus retoños siguieron en fila

menos el más tierno bello y delicado

con el tiempo se marchito

los venenos extranjeros no aguanto

promesas antiguas rotas en ira

de que sería la más bella flor

en el altar de la diosa

Celedonia no hay caso en continuar

de regar el pequeño retoño con tus lagrimas

se fue no está ni hoy ni siempre

has tu vida con tus otros retoños

pero en tu alma herida

mantén en asilo al retoño perdido

cicatriz estrela

celedonia triste

alma de pássaro

flor que ofusca o sol

guardião dos seus deuses

seus remédios

sua dor

quando você veio para este mundo

sua alma marcada com cicatriz estrela

tem que deixar seus vales rios e montanhas

suas luzes suas plantas suas truques

toda a magia de herança que você não pode levar

ao atravessar este mundo mecânico e vazio

todos os seus otários permaneceram alinhados

menos o mais terno lindo e delicado

eventualmente definhado venenos estrangeiros eu não suporto

velhas promessas quebradas em raiva

Essa seria a flor mais bonita no altar da deusa

Celedonia não há nenhum caso em continuar

regar a pequena prole com suas lágrimas

ele deixou não é nem hoje nem sempre

faça sua vida com seus outros filhos

mas na sua alma ferida

manter o broto perdido no asilo

star tissue

sad Celedonia

bird soul

flower that dazzles the sun

guardian of your gods

your remedies your pain

when you came to this world

your soul marked with star tissue

you had to leave your valleys rivers and mountains

your lights your plants your tricks

all the inherited magic you can’t take when crossing

into this mechanical and empty world

all your saplings remained in line

least the most tender beautiful and delicate one

eventually it withered

it couldn’t stand those foreign poisons

old promises broken in anger

that she would be the most beautiful flower on the goddess altar

Celedonia there is no case

in continuing to water the little offspring with your tears

he left and won’t return neither today nor always

make your life with your other offspring

but in your wounded soul

keep the lost sapling in asylum

the crying game

/ mbrazfieldm / 16 Comments

i guess i have to go now

it was a pleasure meeting you if

only through letters and gigabytes

warm eyes warm smile and so much gratitude

i would have been honored to call you mother

Poetess you were a friend in spirit

you go join your loved ones and rest

write along the angels can you hear

the music of the celestial orbs

when i close my eyes shut tight

on a high rise rooftop in the fancy

part of my city i can hear it

and i dream of holding Shakespeare’s quill

perhaps Helene you can get his autograph for me

and send it on the feather of a swan

i guess i have to go now

and as you soar through the beautiful skies

you will now know all mystery

beautiful artist sweet kind friend

you leave us here where life is sometimes a game

we laugh or we cry but we are just human

be it not for souls full of light like you

who’ve touched my heart

one could say life would be intolerable