eternal mojito ether

where would i want to be in a hundred years

i think maybe at one of Papa’s parties

in Cuba perhaps with palm trees swinging in the wind

leading a revolutionary life meaning just being me

maybe setting the palm tree tops on fire with a million fireflies

how far would i be out into the timeline that strings us on forever

i’d imagine that the Pi would taste like minty limes and the Alpha would feel like velvet

the Omega would be the scent of gunpowder apocalyptic ripples left shivering to the breeze

eternally in the darkness of the light

poking through the magma of the times

my dark soul shaped like cracks and bothersome little rocks

little carbon teeth and my lips would be a couple of twigs

swooped up by momma crows to weave the nest for fuzzy babies

that will grow up and flyaway my twiggy ashes

i will not sink but float out into the ether above those Cuban skies

where i then will witness the incandescent fireflies flitting atop the palm trees

and like ash i too will inevitably float to join neutrinos helium and dust

spider tongue speakers

spider tongue speakers
where are my words
how did they just go away
speakers of spider tongues
multiple eyes mega thunder
sounds with meaning
ancient bird collides
the boulders of lies
nature in pixel flat
air an element to mean bullshit
times have changed
heralding the sweet nothings
only heard by supple machines
in the night of the web
tulips land like ticker tape
bees in tribunes
held up in polyester silk production
we have a meta face against the will
of the living

mbrazfield (c) 2021

fat wives

during the times of kings and crooked priests when land was worked with skinned hands and God was kept from most fat wives were prized possessions throughout the times  borders planes punk tunes politics wars of worlds and lipstick trends tea cup dogs and reality shows churches of every persuasion color and flavor fat wives are now abandoned dethroned and berated yet among the kings and dukes earls and car owners big boned brides and fruits from loins each pound of flesh was a gold brick in their safe now strewn across my street and the streets of the city fat humans lethally  lethargic forced to eat poisoned industrial concoctions trash and starches because the bottom of the begging cup has nothing more than the guilt coin of the popular collective unconsciousness

stay with me America

im not of pedigree or coveted fame
ive tripped many a time along your winding lanes
here in alleys where ive sat in ragged tents all day
a lowly worker with brochures of life altering events
the propaganda of voluntold indoctrination
my name is just like any other
from my hands that shake from harder times
i try to read between the lines
when ‘we’ are face to face
drowning betwixt the ones ‘we’ call the ‘us’ and ‘them’
we lure to come into the wasteland charm
of stretched out lips and forked false tongues
gimme gimme gimme the desperate and dislocated
the addicted and the berated running from the demons of corruption
has been the bait and switch liberator’s motto
send these the disturbed and ex-comfortable
so they will become the poster child
of the politica apparatus tweet of the week
yet as a daughter of your sacred strata
formed with the international soils of pioneer steps
of all the peoples’ diaspora
stay with me America
that i may serve
as my inalienable right guides me
to be free to love all human beings equally

one night at Lou’s gig

Lou remember me from the nose bleeds at the Greek
among the stars and trees you sang about magic loss and happenstance
we were together in LA
no one thought about the irony of your songs or the tragedy in the sparks of people keeping people down forever the sigils of history warn
that night when the heirs raised their fisted hands for some questionable victims
the silver spoon afternoon faculty culture bunch joined the fun to line their vote pouch
the loss streamed with hemorrhaging velocity happenstance remained the same
under controlled televised well made up coiffed dos they watched her burn five days the news ministers said
yet we were all born simmering
Lou i left the forest and i left you
to feel the burn wicked with the same  fire of Pharaoh and Baba-ato
the Tlatoani and Xia and Shang
but in modern America Lou we both agree we prefer to do it Roman style