demander au ciel bleu

mbrazfield (c) 2020

when my mind was little

the skyscrapers were tall

God was big too

the streets were filled

with faces strong that walked alone in my drowning dreams

the functions of my body not under my control

and when the body seasoned into what men had sought

it was as if a flock of doves had scattered from my soul

the moon was maiden too long before my birth and then was trampled on her light fallen from its grace

but today i read about a boy and trees his looking for the life that did live underneath

the soil of creation and where someday i will be

looking at the captivating blue glass crystal skies waiting for His words

🌠thanks to my friend Stephen @ https://fullbeardlit.org/2020/04/08/along-this-path-a-five-oclock-poem-by-stephen-fuller-with-audio for inspiring this offering

good morning Sylvia

unlike swans she said

no gracefulness in the step

should i drink from jars

in other news

rain pitter patters on the window if i look hard enough i can see tiny cat nose triangles and pomegranate shaped paw prints and another angel died

the high school music class saxophone huffs through into my room and the virtual eight grade students cheap ass marijuana wafts in too while another angel dies

the mayor explains how critical the strain is on the county and how we hold hands and fight from our couch as another angel died

the smell of my books and the pills that i took colors of my mind are tired and somber angels dying left and right

ventilators generators procreators thieves and hope beauty mud Your Kingdom come and another angel died

and if i make it past this trip i’ll still click on channel blank brains and angels will still die

the state

Out damn’d spot! Out, I say’
the bridges of my neurons are rapidly burning
crumpled bitter roses scream in the foulness of the sapphire air
we swing softly with broken fists at the rock hard sky
welcome to the New Jericho in my mind where Bob Dylan and i sing till half past nine
with tight shut mouths we quiet the temptations
red are dreams that stir profanity in what we see in the black hole deep inside
Katchinas on the plane drive in Teslas to a shame spot on the backs of believers
nefisē be’iwineti ālechi gēta ḫayilini set’enyi
the frozen lighting of impossible miracles brightens some frigid nights
and so Grady croons to the vigilante squirrels of Santa Monica California
there will be broken bones and glass and dreams and motley monks will see the candor in the stream
nicht mein zirkus nicht meine affen the periwinkle gargoyle prayed
but the scrubbing of my hands will not always cleanse the triggers that condemn me

mbrazfield (c) 2020

dream a little dream

mbrazfield (c) 2020

bench to Nod

rest slips from
me not today she
said there is still work to be
done internally dive deep and see
sweet surrender colored weak continues to elude you the piece of eternity sliced for you is not yet served

mbrazfield (c) 2020

the haiku is unwritten

four in the morning
we sip smokey espressos
Joe Strummer and me

becoming undone

mbrazfield (c) 2020

it’s brewing
continuity
questions are stewing angry
we wait part doers motion suspend
muted red March April May rebirth unto death pull us forward bit insane masking new life restless buried ashen run to hide

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

held hostage

she’s here again vice grip on my chest black night horror demon waif starvation of my thoughts clawing on my floors thorns grow out of my eyes flames of peril dancing on all with illusions of lucid hell all the bottles in the world beg me to rescue them stuff my corpse with SOS written on sulfur stones of tortured paths throw me in the lake of fire fingers running on the walls 2 in the morning feeling lost the saints all laugh at my position i run outside the neighbor calls for me to come back and lock my door i grind my teeth and rockaby in hopes that this episode will soon become another reason to get high on useless capsules i’m prescribed by the drones of science