Poetry

ojo de venado

/ mbrazfieldm / 17 Comments

for the most part

this Spring has been bland

the honeysuckle doesn’t woo me

the curiosity has dried from my heart i don’t read how i used to

Bad Brains or the good Reverend Horton Heat don’t sound to me like they used to way back when

there is an apostate strand of DNA to the right of my interior

the witching hour sticks at me like when Ladd Jr soccer kicked a wasps nest

i’m weak and can’t believe anymore my demons know they’re close to laughing last

my molars are ground down tear ducts parched i don’t have mercy for me

God i can’t feel You next to me how lost i feel tonight

there is a world that got away the war is done but i’m still trapped in this fucking battle

numb and cursed moss eyed doe i think i’ve plucked my own eye out

perhaps it’s just nature and my time has come to grow a beard

perhaps Noemi has gone away her angel’s don’t sit and play poker smoking big cigars like she said

it’s 4:37 am

no one wants me nor do they wish me anything any which way

click

strike

lit

gurgle

pour

clink

suck

blow

gulp

there’s an Aztec sunrise ceremony on channel 2

my belief in magic’s gone

seed of pulp

/ mbrazfieldm / 14 Comments

melodies melt through the creamy walls

the night hot

the asphalt angry almost boiling

the sizzle of her heel

i can hear it

she comes near

the steps bend soft like wax

up she floats

i can almost see her

dressed in spicy orange

moist with musks

muffled stomps rushed then slowed

he stops

i can’t hear the locks

but i know he’s turning them

like a perky breast

almost rolling the knob

on the tips of his fingers

that smell like Cuban cigar

Hollywood is burning tonight

we sweat wilt run into our mattress

it doesn’t matter

the chords are taught

the hydras groan at him

from her fake jeweled throat

he has to convince a beautiful beast

that if she stays for a few hours

he can be more of a man

than he is now

bottles cheap dusty and old

like his hands

her purse sags from cheap makeup

and the volume of her in between tears

Hollywood has burned before and yet it rises

nothing novel in any of our eyes

now a cricket here

a dog bark farther

a few clicks on my type writer

the sun is coming up

i too swig from my dusty vials

4th

/ mbrazfieldm / 11 Comments

gold line passes through there

four tribes meet and they have been for longer than i can ever know

one Meso one Afro one Europe one Orient peoples beautiful all

same hearts one dream different strokes same same same

the bridge is there she lays on her mighty back we cross not just concrete slabs but worlds too

colors flavors scents labor dignity and the human ego of course

united by segregation of their color segregated from each other by being throw an occasional bone starving of their soul

but upon closer honest sober observation on days of rainbows i can see where the tears are stitched to form the Nation where i stand

we are Los Angeles

riots marches torn down houses strikes children centers Lakers unity churches merchants Mexican chop suey Columbian Korean fusion Woody’s ribs Lupe’s tacos Italian house Red Hot Chili Peppers surfers boarders models ballers

the four directions on the 4th street bridge and what it’s come to be and what we’ve become by it is the rainbow children of our Lady

so before the Hall keepers House gablers blues reds and judge and juries request your seats mind and remember

Porciuncula and her kids do lead and ever will this vast kaleidoscope table

carnations are pink

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments

in my kitchen calico lady cat yawns at the sunny rays piercing the window

she don’t like tuna a real nut job of a cat

my coffee’s ready four cubes and half and half we engage eyes the cat and i

she stretches ten feet long including freshly sharpened claws on the leg of the velvet black couch

i concede she’s the queen i drink coffee smokey creamy good i think of a certain lover of long ago

the cat she knows my thoughts i blush a little her pupils broaden at my joyful shame

my memories entwined with coffee steam like my lover’s clumsy breath descending on my bright pink mound

to miss not the sensation but the act of being held for a few moments by a pair of hungry arms

sensing the melancholy seeping in the cat meows at me asking that we share a glance out the window

my carnations had bloomed again after a long blue winter

it’s cool old dude

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

were both off you know

drunk wild seed spreader

we met in combat always

we tried i still remember the porky pigs and bugs bunnies your fellow inmates drew when you sent letters from jail

twisted twisted twisted we became one old soul one fallen angel

it’s late now you a legend i’ll leave it there

it’s ok i’ve found others to take your place then they betrayed me too

ha! trust you say i have none not even for me

i needed a daddy maybe in another life i was something wicked and i deserved you or maybe it was the other way around

you hurt me a hurt so so deep that i don’t know how to let God in

but it’s ok i can walk talk think and take a bath i can breath laugh and when they least expect it maybe even love a little

i really needed you father when i went ape shit and almost took my life ok ok a few times

just like mom always the corrector

you tried and thanks for letting me be your father

if i was a guy i wouldn’t be a good husband but i love kids so maybe i’ve been my own dad at my age i’m still confused my time line shattered

it’s ok we did what we could i can drive monster trucks shoot guns and know basic boxing moves

thanks daddy that makes me cool

i’ve got to go now we hurt each other

your legacy was tough to carry and since then i have tweaked it a bit

maybe today i will be my own mirror

threesome

/ mbrazfieldm / 30 Comments

moon peeks slowly orange glow beautiful at two in the morning

we inebriated on thoughts on old angers and accusations

moon she shows cleavage through silks and laces tailored for her by the Venus

we savage with our voice one fist raised above the other torn lapels teary eyes your cut knuckles my need to run

moon swells enormous pregnant by the Mars no weeping in her labor she knows how to raise the stars

we impassioned and raged swell in our erotic locations kissing negotiations the climax nears the horizon

moon wanes with satisfied relief and the pinkest carnal flush

la times unplugged

/ mbrazfieldm / 11 Comments

it used to be that brown or black eyes were the abysmal of magical beauty and blues were sparkling pools of Narcissus’ soul staring back at me today i walk slow aimlessly sipping pretending to be comfortable and care free but it’s only procrastination to my left bumper stickers promising green utopia for all to my right oceans deep with human carnage strewn and labeled social crisis the caucused trumped up rallies won’t heal my broken brothers and if i’m not careful the depth of my wavering human decency could quickly shallow up

wine

/ mbrazfieldm / 23 Comments

sweet age she nestles between the folds of my skin

the blurred mirror tells my tales

eyes dark yellow swamp colored crystalline with dew

tears they have emotion encoded through the years

my lips pucker and it’s my grandmother who i see eye brows raised a little my mother stares at me

and when the scrutiny of French soap is through only a jaundiced blush peeks on my face

reminders of past lovers’ livid strikes

youth you silly delirium pills spirits powders and glues substitutes for reality during a time when lies were truths

aged lady time i have always loved you a dumb girl Don Juan begging for you be merciful old girl my bones are soft and wine however fine was rarely a comfort

this hill of mine beloved of Fante and i oh do you remember the sliding down rolling banshees trust fund empties

ah i talk too much i have been dying since Eve’s creation was not being born the original abomination

time please cloak that mirror i don’t want to be trapped in my memory of wiping bloody sorrow from my face and from the face of my mothers

time can i ever forgive myself