there is a blue bird vagabond
some say bad motherfucker
stepping strong
others have yet to hear
how he chirps to those songs
of old Lou Reed
soft spoken when he chews on the worm
self imposed exile
in the cage forged from fleeting truths
decoy soul within the vulture kettle
there is a blue bird wanderer
hopping from dream to dream
pecking at the hollow of his heart
in hopes of softening the cruel stare
of abandoned turtledoves
it’s in the night
that i come to find tidbits of the truth survive
the naughtiness of the scene a race to be seen
boys will be such under their skin some are men
unspoken in the secret love they hold for their sisters
cyber Monday tired long drive
random Target children crying wanting
mothers sighing fathers walking behind
cops strolling looking for something
not in particular looking plain
inside partly broken hard times
we all stare out far
our thoughts hidden polite smiles
riddled with worries this that
crimes in our head saddened
skies blue clouds fluffy right
still deepening in the heart
a desire to be upright
while looking inside of grief
snow is fake elves shelved
Palestine hurts Israel bleeds here
America sinks as she steps
on heads backs shoulders hands
the people we hang dangling
Betty Crocker’s ads cannot repair
the damage of those here
walking shopping pretending most wonderfully
to be free to do
to love to speak openly
but we’re not just drowning
underneath raging mad correspondents with
all the lies that linger
here at a random Target
on cyber Monday we are
an offering to my fellow human beings. i typically do not make public comments about politics religion or world events. like many i was born in a time of war and i can’t remember peace. but this particular war between Palestine and Israel has truly hurt my soul for private and moral reasons. i stand with the innocents and i hope that we all find peace health love understanding and blessings
“And He will judge between the nations, And will render decisions for many peoples; And they will hammer their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not lift up sword against nation, And never again will they learn war.”
she said the raven
himself is hoarse mine ears full
of cries in the dark
i store treasure taken from my eyes
in rooms to multiply
linger these treasures do
ensconced in my mind
at night when no one cares
to listen to my views
i pull a diamond or two
from there in the back
brilliance tucked away in angles
dead flower smell wafting in the creaks
gingerly i polish them with words
they come alive
and leave me cold
tomorrow i’ll look around some more
before my eyes no longer open
im not ready to write that poem about pride i want to hold on to the last withering rainbow tufts of our youth
even as society judged you even as i relied on you as your own life hung over the cliff you gave me love
im not ever going to write about the goddamned rainbow and flags and house music and all of what you were pigeon holed into
i ache for you when i see a live pulse in the inside of my scared split wrist
i feel burning shame as if i could only gut myself out the several times you bought my junk when you needed life extending medicine
no i cant write about the marches and those vigils and political farces when i miss you so much
you were my mother my father my sister my brother my protector my guide you were my life choice accountant my guardian my saint
remember the time i was raped and you found them out and morphed into holy rage for a moment hell closed up while your fists rained down fury upon them we both wept
remember the morning when i knocked on your door and your mother answered with a face wet with Mary’s eye dew
from behind your favorite Japanese screen you called to me wondering if i brought you Thai iced tea
i navigated my shock to see your skin and bones when two weeks ago you wine and dined with joy at the Tenderloin
you said come kiss the queen and as i neared the top of your hand lowering my lips to your cool forehead
i melted next to your neck and received the final tear from your left eye and i knew the rainbow wouldn’t ever light my path again
*for Asa, i miss you so much friend say hello to Freddie for me
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
for reasons they dont understand
we must pass we must toil and then die
they dont understand why they rule the way they do just a pure desperation
for reasons they dont understand
they too suffer maybe more than us
we are challenged we devise the fighting strategy we battle and we win or die
but for reasons they dont understand
their fight never ends and they take our children again through the mortal coil sausage machine
for reasons they dont understand
they suffer indefinitely
we suffer into a second skin
and life moves
we hang on
then reasons no longer matter
words less spoken 