winged dirge

the songs that birds sing sweet and piercing in my heart

lay me to rest in some other part
of Your universe so dark

where the songs that birds sing
sweet and piercing like Your voice

lay me to rest in Your universe

with those songs that birds sing

i too will be free soul pure

sweet and piercing songbird

resting in Your universe at last

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

ojo de venado

for the most part

this Spring has been bland

the honeysuckle doesn’t woo me

the curiosity has dried from my heart i don’t read how i used to

Bad Brains or the good Reverend Horton Heat don’t sound to me like they used to way back when

there is an apostate strand of DNA to the right of my interior

the witching hour sticks at me like when Ladd Jr soccer kicked a wasps nest

i’m weak and can’t believe anymore my demons know they’re close to laughing last

my molars are ground down tear ducts parched i don’t have mercy for me

God i can’t feel You next to me how lost i feel tonight

there is a world that got away the war is done but i’m still trapped in this fucking battle

numb and cursed moss eyed doe i think i’ve plucked my own eye out

perhaps it’s just nature and my time has come to grow a beard

perhaps Noemi has gone away her angel’s don’t sit and play poker smoking big cigars like she said

it’s 4:37 am

no one wants me nor do they wish me anything any which way










there’s an Aztec sunrise ceremony on channel 2

my belief in magic’s gone


sweet age she nestles between the folds of my skin

the blurred mirror tells my tales

eyes dark yellow swamp colored crystalline with dew

tears they have emotion encoded through the years

my lips pucker and it’s my grandmother who i see eye brows raised a little my mother stares at me

and when the scrutiny of French soap is through only a jaundiced blush peeks on my face

reminders of past lovers’ livid strikes

youth you silly delirium pills spirits powders and glues substitutes for reality during a time when lies were truths

aged lady time i have always loved you a dumb girl Don Juan begging for you be merciful old girl my bones are soft and wine however fine was rarely a comfort

this hill of mine beloved of Fante and i oh do you remember the sliding down rolling banshees trust fund empties

ah i talk too much i have been dying since Eve’s creation was not being born the original abomination

time please cloak that mirror i don’t want to be trapped in my memory of wiping bloody sorrow from my face and from the face of my mothers

time can i ever forgive myself

cowboy Earl

gold tooth black Stetson hat

a shitload of loitering tickets and pink assless chaps

he was from Mississippi grew up on bad land

menfolk took his innocence his momma shot herself

we both sit by the parrot tree looking cross the street at the hipsters in the street meat taco line

as if he’d quip every now and again

how’d you become a cowboy Earl

that’s a personal question Grady

cool i’d say passing the Batman portable bong his way

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


a line followed not straight feet hollowed out by the bumps of life

a beat heard faintly like a radio sign from outer space on a kids ham radio

intuition dimmed heavy without direction like broken jade frowning atop the china cabinet

a kiss blown by aging beauty queens to the princess up and coming

young girl twirling on a pole old man staring at her bones she thinks of tea sets and raggedy Ann doll he thinks of the life he once so loved who is buried six feet under

the flowers radiant pinks and red stems green and full of life across a dirty street i sooth dry skin and raise my glass to Martha