moon confessional

mbrazfield (c) 2020

the dreams i have are irrational futuristic agnosticly holy and in reverence to the moon just this morning between coffee and more coffee and water and coffee i thought the goddess was a lamplight but no my cheeks felt blushed and that hot hot feeling came over me warnings of physical danger the moon caught me flirting with a piece of lemon cake for breakfast but i wasn’t interested nor in the tea or the oats memories washed over me of my uncle’s girlfriend’s breakfast table robust meaty no fancy meanings a flap Jack was just that gluten fat saturated and otherwise corn syrup and food coloring sugary cereal more potent than cocaine Tang for the kids gin and oj sometimes too wink wink lives so many lives i telepathically tell the moon can you see the despair from up there you lady with the rabbit tattoo engulfed in memory was i talking like a rabid fool i turned and looked outside my window and there she was all round and orange inching into my kitchen to see what all the trouble was

broken bottle

spider’s web on the corner
the dust and sunlight dance
a waltz
cracks in my bones books on my shelves chipped polish on my nails
the spider has gone to another land and i wonder if she was a pilgrim looking for God as well
not in the mood for anything to eat i sit and watch my cat sneak around the tables
silence in my heart and in the windows purple orange skies
no particular need for any promise i’m quite grown up
and think beyond those silly things
but every now and then the feeling flutters like a moth outside his lantern how did time
escape from me
ah yes a broken glass
in the midst of my heart

LA, into this state

raggaeton and Coronavirus-19 blues

seriously woke adverts from podcast sleuths

the AG and the Russia hoax

        MSNBC squealin’

          through the crumbling ozone

exclusive: thee gospel truth

     time doesn’t really matter?

     eight hundred and seventy-six days gulped Manafort

Prius glide bike lanes wide

             out-brake light-mine i’m from LA

                        bus lights

    frozen on Mulholland Drive

Ferrari high beams with movie directors’ wives

         Tupac karaoking in the car

              dope beats Dre interjectin’ more more more

memories of seven fo

                and the deep state goody two shoes ruse begins

                              110 N   110 South   360 degrees

the president in forced space

                behind JFK’s refurbished desk

         listening to no one but Fox and Friends

vice president boxing the Fauci and Birx bunch

“Let us love as Jesus has {LOVED?}us.”

                   the archbishop says

yo yo yo!?! does that mean we’re all dead…

                   gentrification gentrification

               where’s that old voucher to my section-8

extension the PJ’s are not communes like Marx’s mandate

         meth toad croaks in the trailer park door instead

                       sweaty poisons seeping into

     the young collective American soul

        finest tit slash bleach job i ever did see

skyscraper floor path paved with our correctly approved recepticled trash

        while our slogan puffed chests

at the pride we have at the graves we have filled

      behind dumpsters of the riche through their guerilla     

                               drills

            as we parade around the good done deeds

the mayor walks those very grounds were 30 years ago

     the epidemic shunned back then

                          but walked for now

               took most of my loves forever due to their failure to conform

                                    now today in my home town America-LA country broken down to her                 

         DNA

yes Cabal we are openly and freely international with an

    admiration for cowboys rudeboys and all the girls in the     

                        world

 coexisting vegan meat eater howlers in the night

           blues and reds never got us right

media giants you’re wrong as fuck about us

                we the people of the Westside coast

              Chuck wearers Mariachi trumpets duo with Miles                     

                         kung fu swinging farmers markets our neighborhoods by far were never anything ‘Little’

                 Hogs ride wild all the Angels of this Nation

want to say:

               America have a very happy birthday

to the sweatshop workers who get paid a dime

               and to the Chili Peppers the music makers of this  bad ass LA house

         let us not forget the discarded freedom fighters who stand in the soup lines

      all the kids made from God’s rainbow flag of color

               and the school babies hanging out at Food 4 Less selling candy bars for a dollar

                 to Kim Soo at my favorite barbecue

    and of course Hadib where i used to buy my tokes

            and Dona Adelita at the corner with her folks

      LaTifah and Darryl who teach me about the Sheppard JC

            AJ from the Lakota Nation a Captain America

                  comic book fiend

  and all of my liberal left hook right wing swing coffee house

     junkies

          let the lights tonight be strong and free

     reflecting from Dodger stadium to the ferociously tame

               surface of the Silver lake man made designer reservoir

i prefer the older ones

your chest swells and collapses in slow motion
i miss watching the hairs curled up tight in salt and pepper rosettes
you didn’t love me i was too young but on cold lonely nights you couldn’t stay away from my womanly thighs
i drank alone on the floor cursing the day i was born then when the sun took her post
i walked through my door having to face the world again

blunted

mbrazfield (c) 2020

why so tough kid cry or something

i’m ok man don’t trip

your friend overdosed in the hall by the curtained room

are you telling her folks or who

we called your dad isn’t he coming

no he said

do you want to go to the hospital your nose is bleeding

it does that when i hurt

oh did you fall down

no i hurt for my friend growing up even my toys were mechanical

beauty quiz flunkee

i like to wear the black t shirts like Lou Reed wore
and my eyelashes full of black goop eyeliner slapped on crooked
the kids they talk of Spotify but they’ve never felt the living beat of playing a Fender Jazz bass guitar im just a girl but not really just uh girl there’s kinda a lot of intersectionality my heart she beats in tiny bits when we see your smile and when i bathe i hear Sweet Jane whispering to me under water and on some nights my eyes can’t sleep we chew our nails and tap our feet the holes on my black jean’s get wider i think my feet are kinda big as i bounce twinkling stars off the tips of my toes from the blue sill of my bedroom window but then the sounds of laughter travels from some neighbor’s t.v. reminding me of the possibility that i might just order botox shots tomorrow