DTLA

minimalist regrets

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

to the left or right
you’re not really on our side
where do butterflies
go when they die on fire
hey Joe i heard you were gonna shoot your own country down
deep
breath
eyes
closed
before this moment
i remind me that i’m not enough
it
is
there
tucked
in
the
breath
under
the
waves
disconnection although i never knew what she really felt then the Pantry floats about memories of standing in line on Figueroa at the mouth of downtown when downtown was a city
meadows i see on the packages in the lady business aisle of my regular supermarket
Los Angeles breeze
weary leaves heavy with dust
nails of my fingers
chewed down to bloody chipped stubs
agony and mind control
Diego the flowers
indigenous majesty
from a time before
the conquest of Silicon
with barcodes on their petals
i not ever one to stay settled
not in a chair nor a desk or a flipped car in the middle of the highway
my roots never grew
i stayed for a little while
then climbed on the first wind
that blew through this soul of sand
my grains turned pale gray
tumbling through this earthen hourglass
i write this to myself
at an angle framed by brick weeds and piss the King Eddy has closed
window and door a silent rigor mortis
no more free drinks or musty teamster gropes
skid row catches the eye
twilight lives here day or night
but at times it shimmers
the network of your arms
strong like a cedar tree
fingers from both of our hands
connecting transporting us
they ask why do i cover it
wandering around town
a million thoughts
abstract in their reality
answers but then the questions haunt
im not a fitter in the jigsaw of today
just a wanderer a sorceress with a spray paint can
strayed under the bridges
archangel seal on finger broken twice
between 3 and sunrise shift
my eyes stay wide open
aches of muscle and moments passed
regrets are very minimal

*all lines of this cento are from other works written by mb

high voltage

/ mbrazfieldm / 1 Comment
mbrazfield (c) 2021

let us praise sweet baby Jesus
for this liver of mine
these combat boots circa 1989
the fuck you nose in the air Lost Angelina flair
thank my lucky stars for me growing up between the nickel and old school Hollywood
i like a mold among the sparkly tinsel glow of all of those who have come and gone
but i am still here, ha!
and to the goodness let us thank you too for gifting me the shadows of Bukowski’s foot steps his words and his bungalows over on the east side
thank you universe for allowing me the courage or something to taunt my teachers with the scratching of my internal she balls
and my mohawk and knee scabs after countless drunken skateboard falls while attempting to take a calculus test
thank you God for the life You have let me have and the free will to let me feel the punching caresses of the days gone by

yours is

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

yours a cool blue glance that burns cold in the midst of my heart

yours a hot clutch tight around my fevered mind

yours the sound of angry thunder sticking at the door of my vulnerability

yours a distance beyond comprehensibility that weighs on my caving chest like 19 billion suns

yours a bitterness spilled across a bleeding tongue

“depression demon” mbrazfieldm (c) 2022

Mr. Brando, take it from the top

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments

Taino walked closer to me he wrapped his poncho covered arms around me almost twice and began to cry sharing with me that his mom had cancer and that he dreamt i died in the 3rd street tunnel  i cried for his mother too his words only solidified the reality of my having to stop being a junkie maybe i’d be a worse person for stopping maybe i’d be a better person for it that was the risk and the chance that i would have to take no matter how afraid i was i would have to learn how to live with this new sober self because the old junkie self was killing me i couldn’t die no matter how hard i wanted to there was something in me taunting me that i could not die and i would not die i knew every inch of this truth because i had tried to die many a time in the past and failed i failed for a reason that i didn’t entirely comprehend not logically like a scientist but like something a feeling walking in a dark cave feeling yourself through the black path with your fingers bloody and scratched up even in pain down to the bone you eventually crawl out into the light and the light will hurt your eyes for the first few seconds after my trip to detective Tate and several more visits to Taino’s apartment it took me seven years to crawl out of that cave and into the bull ring of life written about by Papa and even after all this time i still find myself maneuvering the symbolic lancets capes and swords needed to bring down the lingering bull-strength ghost of addiction

i need

/ mbrazfieldm / 4 Comments

i need rest from love
its worn me out and dragged me down
i need to not hear lies
or praises that don’t come deep
from the heart
i need to recover my peace
my sense of self
gather back my secrets
hide behind a safety veil
i need to leave
and lay in a desert field
with sand and rocks
the lizard kings and the sun
i need to watch the moon
and knit myself a coat of light
to lift me where i need to be
cuddled between the arms of freedom

mbrazfield (c) 2022