DTLA

Hollywood postcards

/ mbrazfieldm / 7 Comments

there are gopher holes on the sidewalk lawns

and every once in a while on Camilla street

the dirt will mound up next to a dandelion clump

someone lived here once and they still do

and they get visited on lattice top pie Sundays

on the front door a wreath for every celebration

and after morning coffee the garage door opens

name brand grass rose and cactus fertilizers

there are potholes and no sidewalks on Alameda

someone we don’t think of lives here and many more

the dirt around her ankles with pink thread strands

in matted hair with feathers

on Tuesday last her blanket drenched in rain

by her thigh a Starbucks cup to collect her pay

peeking into secret plastic bags

her slitted lips whisper at the fence

there are various hours of the day

where heads can’t be wrapped around anything

i admit i’m old fashioned broken indoctrinated

i’m too tired so very tired to fight a fight

good bad or indifferent

the landscape is not what we think it is

there are no alien or governmental microchips

only old Hollywood postcards in our brain

of Clorox and slime

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

if ever i should just begin to walk
down this anxious street
that goes into the mouth of the tunnel
where we all take refuge from having to rationalize the next three nano seconds of our lives
the subway tile old and cracked
fossilized grime keeping the fading pulse
what would it be that i’d think of
the history or the art
or how we got to be entwined by the tyranny of the city
or perhaps by the 32nd step deep
i’d think of the flower district
giant sunflowers in painters buckets drowned by murky water
the baby’s breathe
as bright and lively as the milky way
on the ground
the spell broken
the steam of drying liquid
smelling of clorox and slime
around step 68
out from the canal of the tunnel
the cracks and scars on the walls
have turned into cuneiform
symbols and communicators
mournings and encoded confessions
my sins beyond
the daily bustle

lunch hour prose

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments
mbrazfieldm (c) 2021

right here in this moment on a cold Monday for LA midday sun peeks in and out although this morning he ran from his wife Moon and she stared him down because he rose late hungover from radiation
today on a gray Monday and the City of Angels we watch each other we don’t see but we watch i look past your shoulder you look past the whole of me eyes glazed over it seems briefcase knuckles curled on the handle white pink shirt slightly crooked walking stumbling in the mind the lunch hour we eat nothing we just stare across the freeway bridge to see the trucks and the cars of the other people who do just as we are doing but they ride on four wheels and to think as we often do not think that there is no connection between us although we are all in the same situation arm in arm in our disconnection
i walk four more blocks and i see the people i used to know
some slowly dying drinking poison others slowly dying puffing away oblivious to the universe
yet others collecting cans washing them out behind buildings stealing water from the dirty pipes
today midday lunch break my shoes dirty my legs cold my eyes blind hands tucked inside pockets that are empty
the whole world is empty yet we drown in debris
we cannot hang our thoughts out to dry those times are long gone
i walk another three blocks where i used to know of a 130 year old home two bedroom large porch she’s gone the only evidence that she ever existed are the orange cones left behind by the demolisher
next week i can bet they will have a high rise up
luxury apartments that no one i know could ever afford

coffee with an ex

/ mbrazfieldm / 11 Comments

light vaporizes dust shower
the gold in your eyes
the groans of our lives
spoken in the quiet of the morning
we sit across from our faces
silent in broken music from our hearts
but we know
we know
in the honey suckle trees
our kisses and screams
are held by perfumed tendrils
by spider webs keepers of hollow seed husks
and an old shredded classified page flapping in the hot LA wind

eternal mojito ether

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

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

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

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