Poetry

347e

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment
mbrazfieldm(c) 2020

the thoughts of the sounds you make your face in pain your eyes ash gray grow like wild honey suckle vines outward from the insides of my composting heart

look she says can i get a break today my blood borrowed by thirteen murder scenes lined up coming from my vocal chords ready for the gate to fall

i know the demons they feed well from me the prescription don’t eat before the range or you’re gonna get rotted rice and peas rolling down your caved in chest

the elders said before you were set free to the prison this would be caution daughter and sons your fathers were  heavy into maleficent fun be advised that their sins you’ll be liquidating

we spoke then silenced

/ mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment

we both tired and bored
then i’d ask where she was born
somewhere she said
but im not really sure
i want to tell you

she smoked then got up
to get a frozen tamale
from a dirty plate
in the moldy microwave
guilt and sin falling
from her face
like bombed out plaster

he joined the conversation
when she and i silenced
midwifing her and me into
a new set of unasked and unanswered questions

we all three sat there smoking
drinking diet cokes sniffing the air
she rasped i need another drag

on Alameda st.

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment
Mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

monsters are worst during the day she thinks slowly mind trailing snail like
their colors the monsters she confirms are like a.m. radio dull warning of their arrival yet
their eyes watch as thirty six who is now old
steps in the puddle with patent leather
baby doll left shoe tarnished forever
on Alameda street

thirty six hears the screams
the burn of fire water cold sweat cold hand
like old silver buffalo she watches
they move with pain purple sprouts twixt
calloused knuckles from fighting air
social malignancy history blithe
we all are on Alameda street

dusk whispers urgency between clenched teeth
the yes daddy girls learn their beat
the lonely boys stretch the meat
nothing changes into double negative
we may all be on Alameda street

wallpaper

/ mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment
mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

it’s too bright now
eyes soulless red stung
see and take note
this can’t be all
the vast void turned
into the window framed
with nothing that was
something in the past
next to the hands
that are cut from
the palms bruises witnessed
how she tried against
the tides of repugnance
the moon births change
the breath shallow grows
exhausted surrenders in the
prophecy of city walls
final mortal sleep tonight
so long clandestine wallpaper

lamenting to Lee

/ mbrazfieldm / 10 Comments
mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

hey it’s me
walking the street
mid day time
end of summer
meteopolitan smoggy air
how are you
maestro viejito hermoso
noticed he’d fallen
sweet weeping child
or is it
you haunting me
either way i
need to say
there’s thunder sobbing
up from throat
in the sudden
downs of life
he sits there
back to me
but back when
i sat there
too stoned to
hide my face
there is no
art in suffering
beauty estranged in
white soiled nothingness
grace crosses street
no one to
touch his shoulder

three six opened

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment
mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

three six opened
her eyes dewey cold across brow
another nightmare dissolving
the peace facilitated by round artificiality
three six rose
from the grip of lonely cold
the cat slept
nestled in the sheets quietly being
bloated eyes blinked
flushing stinging light out from them
three six returned
to the place of internal judgement
law of conscious
almost crying she looked around slowly
there is more
than the stark rawness of soul
somewhere is warmth
stomachs unknotted free from evil butterflies

my last one

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments
photo: mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

he’s in a little cedar box
with an American flag tied to him
she sighs through the cat hair
and dust in the sunlight of the room
particles dance float and flip
she speaks in tender fondness
sweet pink cotton candy memories
for my ears to receive
now their father is gone too
the remains? they will cremate
him soon
she ponders for 37 seconds
should they share the cedar box
then she changes her mind
the radio music pounds in fog
from somewhere in her bathroom
i don’t think the children would
like that
for my second husband to share
a resting place with my last one

:)

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments
mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

pain in her matrix is rose blush
cool as the skin of a pebble
her pain is cause for joy
smile beaming straight ahead
pain looks in the depth of their eyes
her lips part to say i love you
the clouds away frolic in ozone
pain not dulling with enhancement

then what

than what

so what