yearning in code

breath

silent

sweet whisper

cooed inside dreams

honey veins the sting

it comes on spurts of hot

metal polish in the blood

wolfram exploding in the night

thinly necked liquid sand holy grail

near blue Nirvana send me off to sleep

stella mori

universe so dark

just like in my room tonight

stars so far away

a conversation

i remember that garage

atop of the Echo Park hill

pretty in spring

bikes built to thrill

now my hands empty

mind full of memories

that fueled my entire life

the end nears by

we come close now to the station

we could never use words

only cryptic sensations

what sets me apart from the Godly

she asks

i can’t forgive what’s been done

i explain

all that is left

are two daughters

and a conjoint broken heart

desperado

when the armor sheds

and the spirit is bare

he likes to sit on a swing

legs spread across the grass

thighs dangling between heaven and earth

he doesn’t have to plot

on how to bear the brunt of sin

when the struggle rises yet again

instead yonder down by the willow trees

the children playing hide and seek

remind him of when he was a kid

teetering between his mother’s hallowed hand

and the inevitable curse of becoming a man

shoreline

the nutty wafts of kelp breeze

wrap around my body

looking at the waves they crash

the little crabs shake

their tiny pinchers at them

they all just laugh  

their foamy locks behind them

my fingers remind me

that i’m digging in the sand

i smile on my left side

two young lilac gulls screech

over some meaty mussels

my attention zooms in at the ferris wheel

closing my eyes

subtle waves of nauseous panic come

but you’re gone

your arms not there to hold me

your lips can not whisper

your hungry desires in my ear

your wandering finger tips caressing

the nipples on my breasts

as i whispered i want you

we both laughed

the piercings in your lips

they caught my hair

we clasped tattooed hands

the deepness in your voice

only for me

subtle wind moans

only to be cut by youthful laughter

holding my knees

those demons prick at me

your notes didn’t answer my questions

pour toi, Charlie

the cattails sway slow

resin sun settles down deep

she has blazed all day

moon in silver comes

knocking at my back window

dig his Elvis suit

then E Piaf croons

tears brim in my tired eyes

never did i miss

you so much as i

do now even with all of

our misunderstood

way of saying words

to drive each other away

fearing that our hearts

would be ripped apart

by anemic attempts to

share a normal life

you the older one

did not necessarily

know best i was young

i did not know that

fucking my way through real love

in time would never

heal our broken parts

still not all was a failure

truth and wine reveal

little generational differences

laughing a little in the dream i had a roasted turnip with paprika for breakfast maybe that’s it it’s noon on Alpha Omega how does that work for you there is loneliness in her jeer but she keeps at me i’m not beautiful like a spring breeze i’m not delicate like a feather i cannot be a ballerina with two stone feet i am nothing and i cannot write pretty words like the zenith is your eyes i write rusted words like hurt me with your tongue knife and my ideas weigh like mercury on mars but she the Venus does not mind when i do her bidding our way of seeing life is very different i smitten with the downtown proletariat she with uptown well to do’s i can’t believe you are my daughter i know i say that i agree with you it’s too late momma i’m half way gone it’s best this way no hard feelins’ right i know punctuation and the grammar rules real fine but my lips shoot out the poisons thought of in my heart perhaps if reincarnation does abide the cosmic rules she’s supposed to follow i will come back as a super model just for you but now you’re gone and i see you in the clouds above in periwinkle linen and jewels the color of God’s eyes i heard you mother all of our unhappy life together and while on earth your words did bite me i also learned to use their teeth to cut my noose i ran away and did it my way it nearly killed me too but rest assured that in your way as a mother that you were your raising helped me through

Figaro’s

he asked why do you keep her picture there in the drawer swallowing hard i realize that you were my mother more physically beautiful than any woman i’d ever seen no makeup no artificialness in any way i lied and i said oh i don’t know looking out the window at the bus stop i opened the drawer a few more times and there you remained stoic and frozen in your place as he gnawed at the steamy pepperoni pizza hot pocket and scratched his sack he yelled why don’t you put it in a frame and fear broke out in a sweat a slight vertigo took me and i rubbed my head looking for a hit he yelled again and saw what i was jonesing for he says nope not today lets go to the art store instead we dressed in American drag t-shirted leathered and jeaned he held my hand and missed my forehead kissing my aviators instead are you mad he asked i says no and think quickly about the flamingos at the zoo and the empty dark brown bottles of Kilkenny i left in the bus stop trash can two hours ago my feet feeling disconnected from my soul i says no i won’t go and he turns around to see me i can’t keep her in a frame it would be the ultimate betrayal she was Opa’s favorite until she met my Da and ran away with him imprisoned by her vanity and steadfast love for a man of misery determined to be his only queen on the backs of everybody she had to win but death did not agree what are you spewing about never mind i said i can’t keep her in a frame all her life she was held back by her thoughts expectations disappointments and aggressions even her people wandered the deserts and were rounded up in box cars as the evil ripped out their spirit and put them in cages i forgot he said but she’d like a frame she was always a refined lady as he smiled apologetically and the homeless guy with a grateful dead t-shirt on was handed a bologna sandwich by the salvation army guy as we detoured into Figaro’s Bistrot instead

paging Dr. Burroughs, Dr. Burroughs please…

WS i don’t feel that well tonight

       the stars are covered in dust and grime

and the corner store doesn’t have the Windex i like

    i’ve listen to Thelonius on Bluetooth

          and Ravel’s Bolero till the landlady came

to shut me up     it wasn’t even that loud

          i struggle Billy Bull Baby  i see you

  in dreams of course with your suits and balding

               beautiful head  but your brain really turned me on

  i’ve been going back and forth for three days whether i should           

                           go to Daikokuya’s for a ramen bowl but i just don’t have the gumption

             i think i’m depressed again  the tears run like Jesse Owens  and i have no interest in making

                                         them stop

W  im in head first in the Interzone of my own doing

                 for hours i sit on the kitchen counter

looking out for the little brown birds who eat the last

        pomegranates of the winter    and wonder where the

first half part of my life went             but i worry more

    that i have no specific certainty where my last half is                             

                             going

   can you read me a bed time story   my favorite is “Green Eggs

                 and Ham”     

work by mbrazfield 2001

strikethrough

laced

sharp

clove smoke

in alley i

got what i came for

a ticket to peek inside God’s ear near

the heavens past the Milky Way from up there the world was beautiful

at the American Hotel full of sweaty nooks and crannies where the music was wild in its ferociousness and once infected

the brain floated amongst the red aura of the room while the riffs and the booms and the twangs and the truths were part of a generation dying to speak its aching lonely soul

from the cave with symbols and art from masters of no particular renown prophesies of the pioneers of future trillion sized debts and whose progeny would be prisoners within bars made of algorithms instead i was a rule breaker kid channeling Cassady before she knew how to write trickster of the night wild child who’d

never had to fight with an authoritative parent on account they were already at some of their own soirees as a little tax deduction i quickly learned that a woman’s place was not really where she had to stay and i followed suit because it was the only way my rebellious nature would be soothed and that’s how the old vagabonds took me to see the Clash when i was ten the coolest 6th grader ever summers in Bakersfield sandy hair wild like baby snakes shielded by the big

bad momma cobras picking grapes hearing the night thunder of God and machine never wondering what would happen to me at least not in the day time Al’s bar i miss your soul so many times i bled polka dotting your floors lost my mind but the angels of the green couches were there to call the taxi but no one knew the address rock and roll deep in thought colors floated steadily for me forming live connections to the guys that God called Us do pigeons count as doves i loved the one with stripped wings white neck and red beak hind and fore sight blended in my head pounding breaths waking up in the middle of the deck only to see the headlines im still here Hillel wild crazy as fuck child incomprehensible girl took the diagnostical sentence because you didn’t understand