when will the saints

mbrazfield (c) 2020

since the gases of The Breath began to stir laying star mosaic highway to my Earth i have stood here with the Mothers see our skin with every deep trench within lies a simple truth no matter how those eyes may look at it those evergreens beyond man’s streets will make their way to find me i the omnipotent Mother armored in degrees of time so tempered holding on to blades of grass and crooning birds the smiles of ghosts prophets who are strangers and now it is my time the holy Breath she comes on flames attire placing the finishing touches before i’m ushered softly silently diligently into a tomb of slumber

ulcer

mbrazfield (c) 2020

acid rain drop tear
eye field of grain
gypsy cloth for burial
standing we don’t stop
just beyond the starline
shelter roof of water
floor of heaven hell
grew cold of waiting
ulcer in the chiding
mouth of goddess  in
between  the deaths of
lives less killed  our
candied bitterness let’s build
a temple maybe five
before the swallows fly
back stoned to nests
tipping over ashes was
the flowers of my
bed in hair graying

adentro

mirror in my eyes

i haven’t seen in years

there’s been a silent blindness

blocking off my sight

the heart she braces

my inward glance

poppies gold and red

flicker in the wind

a lock of tender hair

across my face

a smile greets the come what may

pupil to pupil reflecting back

truths in simplicity

fish eye

at first view i sparkled like a sinking blade in the sullen opal ocean
coming closer into the blinding dark a she Sun rose
open there i was to the cataract lens of luminescent death gaping mouth uttering finally nothing
my armored scales resplendent no more were plucked away with the dance of she wind’s torrential hair while absence in my marrow was shivered
my bones were to be the same of Jonah’s host and handler
prophet spitter
the hooks have gotten thicker
on the surface of my mind