thank you

/ mbrazfieldm / 8 Comments

pin head rain drops fall the slugs arise from slumber

my steps uneven ballerina slippers getting soggy

but somehow it’s ok my world isn’t asunder

there it is my favorite corner French iron wrought patio furniture and a mural of Mexican bolsheviks on the wall

stepping up to the bar she smiles awake and wide product of the prozac nation landslide

triple espresso red eye no room for anything

thanks are in order i bless her heart with crooked sinful fingers i tip her jar

a chair is chosen for me the usher mysterious and melancholy lures me next to him

he scoots over cigarette stink on his beard but he smiles despite his need to be left alone

i sip ladylike against my physical appearance a contrast in being

he turns his face to me glimmers in him golden eyes tilting his face i notice the wrinkles around his mouth wondering why my eyes have no glimmers

he sips the coffee sliding down his throat a barely there inaudible gulp he pardons himself

as the majesty that he has made me i accept his kind regret and we sit quietly in the eclectic cafe being alone together

cowboy Earl

/ mbrazfieldm / 8 Comments

gold tooth black Stetson hat

a shitload of loitering tickets and pink assless chaps

he was from Mississippi grew up on bad land

menfolk took his innocence his momma shot herself

we both sit by the parrot tree looking cross the street at the hipsters in the street meat taco line

as if he’d quip every now and again

how’d you become a cowboy Earl

that’s a personal question Grady

cool i’d say passing the Batman portable bong his way

lava rocks

/ mbrazfieldm

first the beers

then the hard stuff

then snow

she said good God don’t you feel alive

i moved my face down

my eyes look up

grimace at the stars

smoke invades my ratted hair

miss my cat she said

his name was butterfly

got killed by coyotes in the west hills

don’t you miss your cat

silence

then a nod

a snort

and a pop

i don’t have pets

i’m not responsible enough

brown eyes tears up

cheeks scarlet

my parents hate me

i’ve been such a huge problem

i saw yellow rose buds in the therapy room she heaved

they want to put me on depakote i said

my nose bled a little

why

i flipped my daddy’s car

on the 10 heading east

oh

then she swallows loudly

malt liquor spills out

from the corners of her cold sore covered mouth

but i dig it here i say

i’m thankful for the cool scars i caress and stretch my arm

and that i am aware of my self destruction i guess

sounds like you’re winning the battle she says

my face falls

under my breath

reaching for another cigarette

i hear the boots coming to seek us out

we know the routine

our tiny back packs get buried under the decorative lava rocks

flown

/ mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments

time sits condensed like grandpa’s old Valvoline tucked under the back porch steps

i’ve flown away from my soul this morning before the hummingbird came to mourn

the landing will happen later today when Ursula preps her beet salad i think that’s when it will happen

nodding trailing sinking from the surface tadpoles file in and soon enough will leap with a part of me

there i am i will paint now i can’t catch myself but there’s a little blue pain that aches to be laid out on rice paper from the kitchen drawer

frenesi

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

my eyes held captive by the metamorphosis of the Cecil a born again building with the stench of human history between its concrete bones no longer a child not yet at the biological end the choices i’ve made dumbfound the soul but if viewed through a lens in the night that i’m alive is sheer bewilderment in the hustle of her of him of them i silently record fragments of life that are not my own if i do it long enough my old memories will be pushed out a tender girl walking her pink bellied pug is a better replacement for watching the forensics team rip open the rape kit or a child chasing a moth is better than being reminded of the day your mother died or when lovers kiss by the stop light is better than when the needle broke in the arm then my pupils chose to focus on a single mossy brick Artie in the 40’s swinging clarinets booze loosed women and ripoff con men coca cola lollipops the book says a time to laugh or cry to live or die the last is nonnegotiable