basura

you touched me softly
you held me to your bosom
you looked at me with the softness of a dying fawn
you whispered to me on dark nights with rainy windows
you buried your sweet face so innocently in mine when the howling winds drew near too close to your safety valve
you grew
you matured
your mind expanded
you took the bite of all forbidden
you wandered into the deserts full of twinkling lights
you wore the silks and the satins you heard the music play on mountains
like all good souls
you outgrew what we had
you had to leave and i understand that
although i wait i know you’ll never come
the sun rises and sets
i am here in judgment and in torment
i always knew in the end we were just a moment

mbrazfield (c) 2020

fleeing

nine in the morning it rains there are no clouds
just a dark gray block in the sky angelic concrete
i am longing for something or someone to come
in to this rain with me
alas the freight train
she won’t come
she has never been here
nor can i see her smokestack on the horizon
and when the sun sets
the sun does set in the rain
but i can’t see it
the freight train will still have not passed me by
what would i do in that train you ask
i would get out of here
to another place
another time
another land away from the nightmares
away from the cures
at this point
this point right here
we are all mad
the disease is the Garden of Eden
i give into the garden
the garden is in the freight train
there with wood paneling
like an Irish grandmother’s home there with drinks
there with spirits
the freight train rattles and my longing evaporates
it is now nine at night
i have not slept
i have not slept
i will not sleep
the freight train
i don’t see her
she won’t come for me and my longing
the rain will not come
i was born on a rainy day
the rain she is my lover and my companion
and she also sits with me in longing for other skies
that only the freight train can give or take away

time and me

time sits across from me
sticks her dried out tongue at me
i ignore time and i think about how the Sun catches in his eyes
sometimes the night dwells there too
the Moon interlaced with sparks of blue and black and only a color that God can name
time and i we have this relationship contingent upon
who falls from the table first she’s so wicked mean witch and i almost the same
then i think about him
i think about how those eyes
the Sun has caught and keeps me mesmerized taking my plans away from me
the Sun gets lost and the spider web blue topaz those are
i’m a fool
time laughs at me
she laughs at me
lady time she’s never believed that he catches the Sun in his eyes
she doesn’t want me to know that the radiant ocean of his soul is where i can go
time is a jealous harpy
dry heavy silence
unyielding and she stares
me in my eyes that don’t catch hardly anything anymore
dark
fire out
tired
sometimes we muse at the thought of how he catches
the Sun in his eyes blue so so blue
my eye
my third eye so so extinguished

blackened gold

for R Banks ♤

lips caress
the pain from my mind
blue eyes stroke my dying soul
beneath the surface of the black night
while in the frenzy of Danzig’s song you offer me a sip of water puffing away at native tobacco plucking at Goldie’s chords your life rearranged across your chest just a foreword to the quest that brought us two together

orphan

i often forget his smile the glint of his eyes pulling an old dog eared letter i touch his cursive delicate but unintelligible there are no particular ideas in the tight ringlets of pale black ink his mind was full of scorpions she never returned to him they both mad with ego and one uppance i progeny alone i with a heart full of wasps

someone’s snapshot

who might this stranger be

he stares into my eyes

              i’m as sure as one day i will die

that i will never meet him in the flesh

                  there   see  in the stillness

Of his shot   all of the grays blacks and whites

        the wrinkles on his face

          i imagine hold a code of his life in microcosm

just for me to read      the glance it tells tales

      of other places so far away that those skies are of an undiscovered blue

         and his smile it fills me with mooshiness inside

               because i feel the fibers of his soul

     rough on the surface but softer as you deeper go

    and when he touches a petal or waves or strums a cord

         i too can touch wave and strum internally

                     is that what it means to live

birds and fig trees

baby birds tucked in the fig tree yelling tweeting at the top of their tiny bird lungs
little beaks automatons
of nature booming from
the hard green fig tree
as i remained faceless
from the gray black trunk
of that biblical tree
i peeped itsy bitsy baby bird
feets hanging on to knots of wood these baby birds browner than brown and oranger than orange
such a concert hall cacophony of teeny tweet tweet prayers