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

Zimmy’s Head

in dreams i can see inside of Zimmy’s head if i wipe my third eye i can hear the wind blowing in the waterfall if i stand on one leg i can tell how many eons the mountain will take to swim in the ocean in my delirium he asks me “well what did you see green-eyed one?” on my back i groaned the tiny crabs rise from their crevices i tremble as their tiny feet tinkle in the sand wiping my eyes with the tears of Mary i am overcome by the opening of the cave as if the Hand did unseal the jar to anoint me with freedom