rarity

little green cactus

kneeling in the sunlight

coffee soil all around

its white pot-bellied pot

heart calm palms dry

no dust storms in the lights

crooner serenades me

tells me about the days of wine and roses

that have left an unclear life

thoughts dawning

eyes drawn into a book shelf

toys pictures memories

rubbing elbows with Buk and the Bard

while the cats purr the moment away

still my heart calm

arteries stretching out like tiny arms

shut my eyes and wonder how

i can be happier

Mafdet

the night she is calm
cool crisp velvet blue her gown
from her throat dozens of dogs howl
at her suitor ambulance coming to town
i read a little bit of get well soons
magic words from far away
my heart is calmer too
Phoebe Ann chose me as throne
with big bright eyes and gentle soul
she purrs out loud God’s sheer perfection
Mafdet she saves me from those scorpions in my head
and orders me my sleep to steal
and worry not until tomorrow

first tree in the palace

i believe it was last night or possibly the night before last
i don’t know it’s been about 53 hours off and on insomnia
watching news programs
no music
no music for about a week
feeling very tired
Christmas 2020 is upon us
i miss the world
i’m not sure what’s going on
i stepped outside
i saw the faces
covered muzzled no joy in their eyes
and i live among peoples who are very jubilant
my heart sank
last night or possibly the night before
the sickness came
cold sweat
tears
headache
heart jumping out of throat
fear irrational dark squeezing fear
i thought i had been dreaming about Queen Victoria and that first tree in the palace
i thought i felt the snow from Utah
i thought i smelled the stench from downtown
i thought i saw the lights from my Christmas tree go out
then i thought i saw Mary Magdalene touching my menorah
putting out its lights
when i was able to gather my soul and stuff it back down my throat
i sat at the edge of the bed
my cats trembling in the closet
looking at me 6 big bright eyes the Pleiades
i thought and i smiled
i went into the restroom washed my face with cold cold water
fingers shaking causing tiny little droplets to congregate around the bathroom sink surrounded by bottles of hygiene
there was no wind
there was no noise
unseasonable quiet
every other home that i saw through my window dark
no laughter of children
no blow up snowman
no nothing
not even a lonely bug or a spider
i imagined
i really should try to rest
i really should try to stop watching the news
i really should just stop and catch my breath
i was watching The History Channel the other day
they had a Bible soap opera and Jesus was very glamorous all of the Persians
wear eyeliner it looked very chic
then i thought about Bukowski’s  Dinosauria, We poem
i think he was a prophet
that drunken old fool
i’m sending you hugs and kisses Buk
i think sometimes i think too much
but nothing worth a sigh
nothing worth anything at all
i will relax
i tell myself
i will relax
i will pour myself a tall glass of black coffee  pour molasses very slowly
i shall stir
i shall not want cigarettes
i shall not desire a little drink 
i shall not touch any needles
i’ve been so very good
i’ve been so very good
yes i remember now it was last night
it was full of terror
good thing about this dream
was that i could not hear myself scream
i wouldn’t want to cause any problems
i wouldn’t want to scare anyone
cold cold sweat
cold cold hands
cold cold brow
i smile today at the bouquets of sunflowers 
i thought about Vincent van Gogh
how would he wear a face mask
the poor devil only had one ear
these are the thoughts
that pushed the other thoughts
but i don’t want to think about it
i walk through the grocery store aisles
looking for noodles
looking for broccoli and brussel sprouts
my favorite
i passed on the candy bars
no good i say
i pay and i get into my car
for a short but silent drive home
i climb up the stairs
very carefully this time
i open the door and then
i’m in a desert
i could feel the heat radiating on my
cold cold brow
i look around
i’m no longer wearing any clothes
instead i wear a coat of serpents
i can feel my arms flailing
hoping to cast them off
i try to wake up
i try to leave the desert
during my morning coffee
i recall what had happened
i look in my refrigerator
there are no brussel sprouts
there was no Coca-Cola zero
no broccolini
but i thought about going for a walk instead needless to say i didn’t make it out the door again today
instead i tied ribbons on my Christmas tree
i have to say i  like Victoria’s style

mi amor

mbrazfield (c) 2020

we stand on soil and dried blood
my window from my grave looks to you
staunch proud vulnerable and loud
you smell of shit but yet hike up your skirt
that makes my mind get a hard on
deeply i breathe and think thoughts
that only you and i can decipher
like when i chased that first dragon
down your Chinatown manhole covers
or when i kissed your cold flat marble walls
you and i
you filthy whore a threesome with a snarl

falling feathers

black feather floating from the sky piercing gravity on it’s way to the ground where its little gray tips will be dampened with winter weep i stare at cranes by the river’s bed standing on a stick like leg waiting for the shooting stars for miles and years i’ve been right here looking up at falling feathers

mbrazfield (c) 2020

gourmet two point oh

collaboration with Rob Banks y’all

car titty and payday organs i thought i heard myself think under the bridge with the tents mushroomed through it dry cheap malt liquor atomizer scent the Nordstroms lobby of the poor crosswalk to the weed supplier across the street the line begins on 18th opposite the Toyota parts dealer scooter boys and eyelash girls the latest in street fashion Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle dolls Scooby Doo blankets fixed on car windows for privacy from the bleeding hearts and muskers with their guns ready for the crop shadows greased upon the pavement from the Great Depression and the miscellaneous gruel penny coffee who knew multibillion dollar hook to look good and begging cups with a winking siren who can’t scream at the scandal of it all starvation degradation insinuation of a world gone sane cardboard living is very thrilling for those who afford expensive drywall hung by the nephews of Cuauhtemoc before the Spaniards took the gold that now sits in microwaves next to Nancy’s expensive chest filled with 38 exuberant flavors