post med

mbrazfield (c) 2020

there are days not my legs are weak i walk i walk around the city there’s Christmas in my head and the juvenile prophets have an extraordinary urge to tag just any old word on the city walls there are days but i just walk for the sake of walking i have a difficult time noticing the birds because of the writing on the walls and the writing on their face tells the story of how we got to be in this place there are no cherry blossoms no peach trees no lemonade stands this is reality or a reality

4th

gold line passes through there

four tribes meet and they have been for longer than i can ever know

one Meso one Afro one Europe one Orient peoples beautiful all

same hearts one dream different strokes same same same

the bridge is there she lays on her mighty back we cross not just concrete slabs but worlds too

colors flavors scents labor dignity and the human ego of course

united by segregation of their color segregated from each other by being throw an occasional bone starving of their soul

but upon closer honest sober observation on days of rainbows i can see where the tears are stitched to form the Nation where i stand

we are Los Angeles

riots marches torn down houses strikes children centers Lakers unity churches merchants Mexican chop suey Columbian Korean fusion Woody’s ribs Lupe’s tacos Italian house Red Hot Chili Peppers surfers boarders models ballers

the four directions on the 4th street bridge and what it’s come to be and what we’ve become by it is the rainbow children of our Lady

so before the Hall keepers House gablers blues reds and judge and juries request your seats mind and remember

Porciuncula and her kids do lead and ever will this vast kaleidoscope table

on 4th street

when the dogs got tired

and laying on the floor

perfectly brown and gold spots

little Dachshund legs

stretch out but just a few centimeters long

and green eyed kittens by the door

wild shooting whiskers

like the sky on fourth of July

looking for big momma’s kitty teats

then we all look up at the window

simultaneously in time

although i’m just passing

through an old aunt’s borrowed room

the whistle of the train

needled through my soul

and they perfect holy and beautiful

yawn at the sound of the force

my Paul

just tonight can we stare at the lamp lights

     gleaming on the surface of the puddles in the street

tonight ange triste will you stand still

    so as to peer upon your waifly silhouette

without it floating from my bandaged hands

    can i be your Paul and place my ear atop your heart

and etch in little kisses i love you on the

renegade palpitations there about

       tonight no wine no smokes no laughing hard

no sucker punches no living the life no mosher pits

                   no altered minds

      just a little silence with you ange betwixt my arms

instead of me amidst your legs  

    you don’t always have to run away   scared little bird

pecker and picker of my nerves  and priestess of my vacuumed        

                        universe 

    one time before i leave and i lose you to the vampires

Aaron

when our palms met

that balmy Chinatown night

a little lost canary

from the corner pet shop

sang a melancholic cord

switching his little face

from right to left

he looked at me

and flew away

i had fallen in love

the kind of love

that makes you scrutinize

your breath your weight and even your thoughts

the kind where

you leave your beloved

friends pets and dishes

behind just to think about him

the kind of love

that makes you check your phone

fifty times at two in the morning

you know the kind you lose

your soul to in the encasing darkness

and nothing feels the same

distilled death and i churn my spirit

but you danced with me

for a few years

you are no longer Aaron

i am no longer me

i don’t recognize my smile

its erased forever in your cusp

my heart has melted away in your hypocrisy

my common sense buried under your peach tree

and Aaron he no longer lives here

and i don’t recognize

the song of the canary anymore

complication

tempt

me now

your raw heat

on my begging

lips tickle softly scrape my skin with your

chin take your fingers pulse them low inside

let’s look away

nothing lost

when the

heart

is

broken

tossed in the

rain of remorse

pelvis to pelvis we dance on the floor

desperately clinging to whatever

we should forsake

to avoid

being

loved