purgatory

time appears to have gone on forever and there is a big chunk of me whatever i am that has not changed on this day a very long time ago i was granted permission to come into this world to a big city that is just made of legend i learned very quickly that when the sun went down we all bled shit sleep fought hated just like each other no big difference not from the next city over not from the next country over and probably not from other planets today that old cautionary statement we only live above our demons but we never get rid of them swirls in my head i confess at times i don’t know how i think how i see things i don’t even know sometimes if i believe in pain emotional spiritual physical i don’t know the difference at times what does it feel like to be without pain does it feel the same as being in pain don’t know so here i am back at the Cecil Hotel right where i have always been obviously not in body but in soul sometimes when there is no one around to question the fuck out of me and why my face looks or doesn’t look how they want it to look that particular day i wonder am i a ghost i wonder have i been reincarnated i wonder when i look up and down Broadway and Main to the left or to the right and then i look up and turn around and i look at empty shells of buildings where gargoyles used to be decorations masonry ballrooms perhaps so much and then there will be a particular window that enraptures my eyes and i can’t look away and if i squint my third eye i swear i can see her young dark hair big green brown eyes i don’t know what her name would have been maybe Hazel maybe Dorothy who knows not a modern name and then when my third eye blinks she jumps

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