i do find home

mbrazfieldm ©2025


at last home she is extraordinary
she is invisible yet love is wormhole dense
i slivered enough in the threads of horror
i do find home while i curl up in tainted blanket woven from fractures harbored in lie anger shame and pain
it wasn’t long ago he said i don’t know where home is but it’s there in the crook of her arm
in a peanut butter jar after one summons the elation of the first bite there is home and in the spoonful there are pearls of warmth created from His breathe exasperated when the draw is taken never to comeback for some lucky devils home has always stayed betwixt the cut salved over by tomorrow’s troubles home is also in an urban clover a city dog a drug den park pigeon 5 thousand broken visions in a burnt down van yet he stands home not necessarily needs foundation you see scars are bricks of testament to the home that lives in us as we die of the fat of the land
©mbrazfieldm 2025

electromagnetic Tujungas

mbrazfieldm ©2025

it’s morning 3:19 the night whimpers from it’s crucifixtion in the sky we the restless on Main paralleled Broadway sister witnesses to the brooding eyes it’s a good time to smother the thoughts of hank william’s weeping moon two birds and a falling star as if the universe dropped and disappeared we shut our eyes feebly make protective signs in the air while following the procession with electromagnetic Tujungas wearing withered gowns weaved of the failed tourniquets that abandoned the Braves and so now here we are dying of the fat of the land

stoic haikus

Grand Central Station
alas listless and lifeless
Zeno here lays man

the stoicism
in his blood sustained him but
human daemon

did not intervene
still he held on a witness
to nothing but dreams

Logos who do you trust
the mote in his crying eyes
or the beam obscured

by the lies in yours
thus succumbs by the hands of
dogma and doxa

there is poetry

there is poetry in motion somewhere
handing out ice chips
at the gates of hell
in this house of venomous things
i saw a man beg another beat another man
how they hold their fisted hands is enchanting
i saw a woman wash her cunt in a puddle on Main another too old to share that in her prime she was a socialite
in this house of venomous things
my bones crawl at lightning speed
awareness escapes me
i saw this house of tissue thin illusion
bodies twisted intertwined into themselves
looking at eternal nothingness orange needles used to slam away the truth
in this house of venomous things
there is
i swear it
poesy in the taking of a shit in the alley
in jacking off on a bus bench
in setting one on fire because we’re too stoned to care
yes in this house of venomous things
the windows are wide open
to come and hear the silence shattered by insurmountable indifference
in the poems of our day
i know that i have seen poetry
in his suicidal rage kicking as his neck and soul snap
like any freeway flare to share a light
in this house of venomous things
born of the west to unite with the east
every prophet to her house of beautiful venomous things

field notes from a bankrupt hopebroker 2.26

mbrazfield (c) 2024

if we could be safe in our seats we could share of our misery shed tears and sometimes maybe smile just because we’ve learned to navigate it doesn’t mean we deserve less than this we too like softness color flowers and art we too like chicory coffee and 5 dollar donuts we too understand the worth of work the taste of sweat and the temperature of let blood we are dignified in our wreckage we stand tall in your false shame we smile kindly forgivingly at your hollow grief for us today we sit on this humble chair where when asked we dissect our terrors and we remain grateful to this stoic chair for holding our hands as we let loose of our fears

i’m with Zoe

mbrazfield (c) 2024

i too want a president who has cried at night wondering where bread will come for their babies tomorrow a president who has leukemia addicted to crack and who goes days without eating lays on the concrete because a roof is unaffordable this president must outrun the voices in their head that tells them to eat rat poison my president must know the feel of a baton beating on their skull for not having money to enroll in Princeton or Harvard and being sentenced to perpetual poverty they must definitely have the wherewithal to spend 12 hours in line at the county office to fill out a five foot tall stack of forms to be considered to qualify for a monthly $225 benefit to pay for the mandatory American dream among other qualities this president must know the stench of a 5 day corpse with cracked ribs no hope who the system failed and blew off it will come in handy to know what it’s like to be called a bitch faggot slut wet back whore nigger spic camel jockey cracker and gook to feel their veins run cold on frightful nights of waiting in deserted bus stops being cat called by pimps with machine guns ready to claim and capitalize on your pussy and i want the president who will never forget that the boss are we the people who know what its like to live day and night under the above circumstances

* inspired by the great Zoe Leonard

the office

mbrazfield (c) 2024

on a rainy day the stink rises rancid savory industrial primordial sweet modern
within the pillars of great society
here i am with my outcasts
we together in all of it
on most days to suffer is a blessing
a day at the spa a swim in a lake
around here on most nights
they medicate howling with ecstasy
oblivion in concert
first the rush of light heavenly usurped glory
then dark matter throughout the hallways
prophesies racking up
at the end of the runway conveyor belt
of fucked up lives
merely bonded by a lighter spark

sum

mbrazfield (c) 2024

today nothing happened today i saw a red tail hawk a boat on the shoulder a woman smiling a man crying a boy laughing with eyes brown with pride a girl disenchanted no rent signs on the sidewalk a man changing a tire a pile of wood on fire rats filing in line underneath the 110 North a stack of dirty books a trash truck stuck in mud 50 officers handing out Big Macs at the pupusa joint i saw politicos babbling in New Hampshire a park bench without a park stolen laundry hung to dry ramen wrappers on the sidewalk dirty needles by my car tire a man beyond this reality masturbating in the sun i saw thin ducks wading amidst cigarette butts dogs with baby boots a mother blessing her child with a kiss a woman with matted wig in pink and green and as i paused to take a blink the number of people hurting was staggering