a broadway revival

February 16, 2019February 14, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

crawling, burnt with Holy Spirit at the foot

of the great Hall.

hot, no finger pointing

at the crossroad of the Elysian Dam

and that dusty quenchless sea.

fire, light unbearable

to those two brown eyes that hunger for voice.

an only champion

of beggar’s bowl and head lice cause.

circumstance only for

her lungs.

let the air flow in

as liberty swings too low to launch our mystic to truth.

He has told you,

now you listen.

inherit the earth underneath your nails,

and feed on recycled prayers,

while the horses gallop with broken hoof past the curfew of the silent night.

birth and death in august

February 15, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

when time collects the bag

it has to be in august.

b and i came into it,

w and j left out of it.

the Sanskrit glows on sacred

bricks. the faces, the silence;

crystalized into three ages.

chainlink thorns on sides made

of pain.

black heads blue eyes

to the east lays paradise.

to the west blue dreams

dunked into the black ocean.

mother crowned you prince with bone splints,

but father did not sup with you.

courtly sun king alone out loud;

in a dream that no one’s seen.

once you went to sleep

your soul did not recover.

no blood dies at 700,

early in the new world.

oh heart of hearts,

your star hangs above the floor.

third age in youth you left,

the somber august came in haste.

to Jean-Michel Basquiat

downtown breeze

February 14, 2019February 14, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

then one more time

she comes, tip toes like a

hunger on the Hill St. bridge

but does not offer her love pang to me

orphaned i stand of the

ideals i’ve had

for ever it seems

she enters and

leaves unimpressed

as always

5 spot m

February 14, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

brown pigeons crap on the hollow sidewalk

the old Chinese woman waves her hand

wills their Jackson Pollock orchestrations

by feeding them week aged beef stir fried fare

the gin and tonic mixture of my youth

roughly flows through decrepit portal veins

fifty-year old girl tells me what she wants

easy with my ductus deferens

sip a drink of shame no olive in sight

politely decline her proposition

of five spot love while i wonder away

from Magdalene of little Italy

strolling towards the ragazzo mios

void of all holy penance in this world

briscula my only love lady fair

death walks quickly on J Pershing square

LA River

February 13, 2019February 12, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

Moon, forgive my
untender truth.
your soft light
cannot fertilize
like the Sun’s atomic
beams blazing on
my barren scarred
womb where there
might be hope, still.

wasted

February 13, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

on the inside of the room
the floor is my alter
laying down my hands
again i surrender
with a wet smile upon my face

none was wasted in the
empty harvest of the heart
and the milky way is far
from me in this hour
i most desire

most in your opinion
was the thrift that
you did lay and probationary
periods of my feelings
judged to be abstained
from me forever

LA girls can channel A. Ginsberg too

February 12, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 7 Comments

their bodies as tired as my mind are a
conglomerate of recycler rim shop churches and everything is gated and stifled as the spirit of the child i’m looking for chain link fences rent free beautification of Western Avenue top $ cash paid open we buy metal Medicare Part D appears almost as much as “Jesus Saves” i’m in on all of these treasures that no one takes the time to look at i still cannot find my girl i always stop at 13 seconds i ask

Iglesia cristiana el remanente fiel testimonial Cathedral and Christian school Church of God in Christ iglesia pentecostés primer amor next to the color TV by RCA motel that is open 24 hours Sermon on the Mount Bronco motel on the corner of Western and 55th United African church marked up by the 55 kids crew and all the horny husbands whose wives are left alone demand a price menu for my most exquisite lips

night flows cold nerves exploded at the tips Chinese laundry out to dry the sky the stars turn off one by one and birds are sinking under mud blue gods of the century turn west and all along the mountain lightning stops to cry the purple mud dies
on the day of war
maroon worms climb up
no legions loom
and the resurrection
is postponed
because of my ignorance

meals on wheels at the Savoy

February 11, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

my head is empty at 3.27 a.m.

it is damp with the night’s debauchery

plopping at the top of the bridge

are the noisy little birds

no one can hear

pall bearers to the dead mosquitoes

left there by circumstance

morsels for the hungry

cleaners of the earth

i think of such things

while the world keeps turning

and my sleep leaves

it won’t return

i turn and stare at drying

turnips on my table

Heliotrope Ave

February 10, 2019February 9, 2019 / mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

she comes to me bold and big
as eternity. sunk into a feeling
of having taken all but kept
nothing.

the smell and the color
blinding to the eye. what good
is the poison to liven
my sky with a roof on it.

in this day i’d have liked
to share with you plans for
eternity after the baptism
in the electric after glow.

but it is not like that
and i can never hope now
that the calvary wants to
come any more.

the light in the sky
no longer sharp and the
birds pass the sky where the
flag has touched my battle.

scars and bones put to the test
petals and forms molecules
of death exalted above dirt.