Aging

at 346pm

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments
mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

inside worlds move simultaneously
politics heresy peace nihilism
ides no longer just
in March but forever
thoughts on being men
women on lay over
we think too late
archaic rebellion manifesto now
sold at local retailers
the revolution will be
AI shrapnel lands on
where he needs to
make amends neutral we
quiver as we’re lead
convenience in our head
riffs asunder in a
past that grappled with
the rights of gods
we the people found
in loss but ego
40 year engagement strong
the greatness of our
thoughts freedom at what
cost let us ponder
grief at the shift
of our great age
nothing certain short of
death tearing down the
walls of hate running
circles talking heads lowered
anarchies repossessed mid loan
hope in the periphery

generic chp 11

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

she called herself Magda she had eyes deep tawny green like a bamboo forest the skin around them sagged like the last morsels of dried cocoon from an emerging Monarch she whispered into my face her breath sour like piss and beer and roses cheap potpurri she taxed me with guessing her age my mind trembling i smiled and raised my 10 fingers gesturing three times Magda was tickled so much so that she asked the two weird sisters in her head if I could live with them she was ageless her face wrinkled like an old walnut at the bottom of the bin cheeks rouged brick red lips purple brows rubbed off in time by constant fists and bumps Magda looks across Vermont Ave the pigeons coo in echo

intrusive

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

i have walked in the magic and slimy entrails of the night you can sniff the carnage reapered dreams collected bodies bought sold butchered put back whole on the cool objective table of community tax payer yet the sheen and cigarette scent of your rugged lips captures what is left of my imagination the face ive worn the whole day through with guilt rage pain and embarrassment in the pores cracks a useless smile thinking of our bottom halves entwined twisted and penetrated in a vortex of denial and after all of these years that calloused touch of your hand intrusive through the strands of my graying hair

Porciuncula Nina and me

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments
mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

dull the sky amid smog sin cocktail
thoughts blunt against my skull
drink without soul
noir talk lady cries
her man is always right
yet never is he there
crescendo music hear her cries alone
on the sidewalk
on a night like this which is all the same
my glass runs under still they eyeball my keys
do gooders young and haven’t lived long enough
to feel to feel to feel

generic chp. 2

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

upon arriving to the designated meeting place she saw her there, a slump of pain encased in ancient royal flesh filled with torment and cheap hooch. alas her man had died. she regrets thinking that he was  fucking another whore, when in reality he bestowed upon her his last gasping grunts.

custos placitorum coronae

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

sorry i haven’t been by in nights
ive been on the high and drunk
running after your unrequited children
do you know how hard they live
the chance to win is really small
walking with your zombie children
we’ve learned a lot about the battle
whispering strategies into starving ears we crawl
above the city and her walls praying
dusting lime on dying children