good morning Sylvia

unlike swans she said

no gracefulness in the step

should i drink from jars

le dive bar

neon beer signs
fire door mural cop

harassing drunk patron junk filled basement
last heyday in 1950s
cheap luncheon bar feed
John Fante tattoo
don’t eat the nachos
jukebox no one can hear
two whores boxing
wino pissing
across the street
one shoe on the other
hanging from the wire
that brought the city down
they work on instinct
they are all prison taught
he whispered candy ass freaks
tell me to suck their dick
just for walking on their street
chasms blur all out
the kingdom gone
the will be fickle
find the beauty
of the bones
encased in jaundiced laughter

roman candle

snow fire light thunder the hummingbird speaks

the peacocks have been here for all time just their beauty royal blue tears

heart desires stretching reaching for infinite nothing it seems

i stare the moon frowns at me a spotlight on my shame most gracious lady my eyes downturn

pain and mystery are beautiful holy at times demonic only at someone else’s pleasure

if He wept at His abandonment who then am i to complain

agonizing rainbow look me in the eyes roses die in mid December

that all of treasure’s soul lays bare the blood not on the spear this time but splattered all to see

that a twisted existence didn’t always weave and the past a few exceptions made

that leads me to this Maypole game where spirit and soul are sewn into the coat of many colors

to light the sky in flames of glory and my spark to soar on angels’ arms

for Hunter S

cavalo branco

a

run i desire

freedom between the old bricks

legs bent pale tired

b

morning frost soft wind

my brittle neck is tied tight

my heart turns timid

c

freedom is the blood

gallop on fire of strength

now i won the race

rouge

hot rhythm

pulses my middle

heat kisses my begging thighs

lava tongue spinning salacious

rivers of lust along my woman valley and into the navel of my heart

patience

with warm scarlet tears

she sits sometimes she glances

rosebuds slowly yawn

to miss

my ears have heard

words and utterances

some warm some cold sharp void of life

i fill a dropper full of lies and squeeze them in my eyes

but they roll out eventually

the heart can’t be made a fool even if it’s mine

i haunt the streets and alley ways i pick at crates and smoke away the vision of a miserable creature

whose love just ran away and left her with no direction

in my nightmare the flying carpets are ubiquitous and free

the torment starts when you stop by to tell me about my sorrows

the roses pluck at their own thorns as if they know i won’t come back tomorrow

mbrazfieldm (c) 2020

the water

i cannot bend the water she has a linear will

looks inside my burning soul and snuffs the air from me the water will not bend as black clouds drenched in loss soak up the golden lights

the acids in the wicked hearts will never bend as well they only carve out empty space for bloody floods to fill

i cannot bend the tiny drops forming round my eyes while walking on a ground that screams for me to grind it down

industry analysts of war cell phone master fighters possessive of the scores

i won’t ever be able to bend the water the lusciously maddened by her waves we hunger for some more it’s best to surrender to her cleansing bosom and evaporate into the sandy dunes

train is nigh

end of battle

tired can’t sleep

life full

of non-sequiturs

non-sense and violence

cheap sex never love

or very little

pelvises copulating mid air

no connection to the heart

always flying soaring

to nothing

rules put-downs and judgments

torn down by the veracity of my past

hard to imagine

process logic fire lover

too tired

no lifting cups tonight

war pipes away

needles of deception

found out today

air in the mid night clear

love not supreme enough for me

Coltrane our train is nigh

urbanized safari

the bear caves ripe with shade i go in every night somnambular in waking life there are traces and clues of human nature on the forest floor naked toes step on glass butts used condoms as they make their movement toward the yawning door the bears and zoo have left this wing and moved half a mile to a chic man made compound the trees are pink flamingos brown and the cotton candy makes me blue as i am old but living young the monkeys still amaze me i pet the deer and drool at tigers staring up at me after my tender heart has over flowed with spots on the giraffes backs i go to have a drink and i keep drinking on for days dying in my own captivity