in the 1/60 th

mbrazfield (c) 2020

i never recall at what time it happens the death coveted by bones veins flesh and cells for regeneration not sure anymore where the motivation comes to them my last thought was of “heart of darkness” Conrad did you take my pen i think you’re watching too much news while the truth slips in and out your eye lids he said my plant she sits in her ever patient pot looking at the tree romeo and juliet my third eye is pink today and burns like fire water yet in and out of REM my plant and i glide through the sky her roots firmly pressed in dime store soil and my soul torn out by its tangled roots


the sun she’s sinking down to party in the valley rolling hills full of tumbleweeds thoughts broken desperate for context if only if only if only then there is Sardinia and a dipped toe by a drunken uncle long ago here on the city of angels there city of giants i dig like a gopher i bleed like an ulcer who am i really its no fun to lose your Rhesus at the moment of the light but it has nothing to do with monkey politics i dare say i have no more lice to give

picnic 1975

so he said don’t look up

little darling or your pistachio

eyes will turn to coal

so i said no they won’t

but i did not believe my words

although against logic

i looked up anyway

so can you see stars and lines

or dark dark bubbles on the car

doors my little darling

your eyes are red

no i said so i can keep

looking unbeknown to him

i really wanted to burn

my eyes out to stop the future

from charging me

so listen my petite

devil i cannot let you

look up anymore

so place this hat upon your

head and know that God is always

above you

i know i am beneath

but can i have an orange

oh no no i want a pickle

with pastrami instead

i could not see but i lied


so you think you’re

hungry? we have food

in the car follow me

but don’t look up and if you’re

good we can roll down the

hill together


on the table is a word
followed by dozens of
other words lying next
to each other in lines of
instruction, warning and

although the moon has
dropped her pretty face
i pick her up by her wise
chin and beg her to shine

the stars in my moon’s
hair dance like beams
in a driven stony river
where the bones of time
soak unto the soil of my