painted arms poem for Joey

i was led to believe that angels became extinct
that i a wretched sinner would not ever look into their eyes silver slate reflecting the color of God
i was informed that i did not deserve to ascend a rocky road unless the stones beneath my feet trip me to watch me bleed
but out of electricity and behind a curtain of anonymity the angel was and he appeared to comfort the devilish fear of climbing that mountain chosen for me
none the less along our way thorns and thoughts of human scorn did plague me
but this angel with Porciuncula’s history painted on his skin sat with me in the time of my atonement
still so i could hear the rushing of my blood for the first time in my life
then as only angels do effortlessly ushered me into his arms when the gates of heaven broke apart and explained to me that it wasn’t my time now but to follow him back down where real life would unfold once more and that the gods judged fit to send him with me to save me from myself

generic chp. 9

the darkness is back i tripped my load was heavy and i trembled the darkness is there behind the curtains in my things in my mind the darkness cool calm and causing a vortex of loathing into my self the darkness i hear you but i’ve got to get up now i don’t want them to know

generic chp. 5

it continues the heat the history slow as fuck although it was a good day WAR spilling the wine through my ear canals petrified by the bullshit of LA but i love her the only mother wife side whore she saint i could die for otherwise i too lust and look after those unwitting complicated boys of Porciuncula in my day dream i fancy i am like William Allen or Johnny R pragmatically im just a xitana malvivida

Porciuncula Nina and me

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