para el 7

mbrazfield (c) 2024

today they’ll bury the 7
and hell has now imploded
silence in his scream
the noise in between
rage and shame
dissipated away in the fog
there will be no match
in a durge to the bravado
of your life you way your death
today they will not bury
rage pain hate sting fate
helplessness is not charity
dignity is gambled away
your darkness washed away
clearing the way for come what may
larger than life
you taunted the death
which inevitably takes all of us
no more yells pounding beats fueled by broken ideals
with heart in hand
and blunt inhaled
triumphant in your world
yet crying on the dark side
of the moon

hoy enterrarán al 7
y el infierno ahora ha implosionado
silencio en su grito
el ruido en el medio
rabia y vergüenza
disipado en la niebla
no habrá partido
en un duro a la bravuconería
de tu vida tu camino tu muerte
hoy no enterrarán
rabia dolor odio picadura destino
impotencia no es caridad
la dignidad se juega
tu oscuridad se lavó
despejando el camino para lo que pase
mas largo que la vida
te burlaste de la muerte
que inevitablemente nos lleva a todos
no más gritos golpeando ritmos impulsados por ideales rotos.
con el corazón en la mano
y contundentemente inhalado
triunfante en tu mundo
aún llorando en el lado oscuro
de la luna

clouds with wires

mbrazfield (c) 2024

i like my clouds with some wires
memories of kindergarten
Franklin’s kites and keys
corduroy jackets pigtails

i like my sky with blue infinity
endless forever high up
United Nations NPR
Joe Strummer high gas prices

wires are reminders to my eyes
finish lines running away from
eventually crossing them
grinning old girl am i

blue inks on papers change
trajectories of lives
bars in language community
null void twisted noise

clouds pure shamanic puff
feeding the ducks in Lincoln Heights
remember those we lost
immortalized on walls
ironically in life that’s all they’ve known

wires clouds blue sky songs
baking bread train track grease
cool wind cigarette butts
let my mind be silent today

mbrazfield (c) 2024

on becoming an angel

mbrazfield (c) 2024

night always at night my mind wanders seeking shelter in fantasy of golden palm trees and crystal blue waters
day everyday my brain drags on a few synapses tell me to move out of the way before somebody knives me
night long drawn out my gut churns mouth waters reminiscing on mommas apple cobbler and the sweet cinnamon scent of her apron as i held her
day bright from sunny sky as i stand in line styrofoam tray pre wrapped subs carton of milk served by shaming eyes that pity me
night the thirsty dark i hear war cries grunts deep gurgles women sobbing a junkie last breath
day with hint of rhythm oozing out from stands on the rainbow flower vendors block Smokey Robinson was my guy
night twinkles with pookie pipes bic lighters and trash bin fires i notice star parallels in the sky milky way shavings and rogue morning stars
day depending on the block my sights may fall on sleeping babes cradled by loving arms or come upon the sight of a Coroner’s tent with one less soul inside

Isaiah 2:4

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.”

skyline in November

when you died four days went by
until the living souls found you
grimace on your face and in the spirit comfort
you are gone sometimes awake at dawn i wonder where you are up in the skyline of the last picture i took
on our first train trip together
poetic in your cries for help you were
you’d cuss us out scream in ignorant hatred
then you’d say “you want a porkchop”
when soul one called it took 3 minutes
i thanked her she thanked me
we hung up wrote your final moments
as an incident report
no more angry calls or wasted lies
no more interrogations with misty eyes
about why the demons at your door don’t show themselves for me
i do remember our trip to Mickey Ds
you wanted cheeseburgers and OJ
we got our order and took our seats
while your eyes fled off in wonder
i did not know it then although sometimes i knew
that the more i pushed you to live
the deeper you fell into the belief
that your troubles would be over
after you visited the other side of that skyline in November

mbrazfield (c) 2022

R.I.P RS

may you continue to weave together our fragile souls with the whispers of the angels that through your fingers flow in the eternal