into consideration

i write this to myself
because i don’t know about forgiveness
it hurts too much
to still have to bend that far back
in my secret life
i am the hatchet undertaker
bury hatchets under buried bodies Beth and Devereaux say
but for how much longer
life has passed me like birds
silently looking nowhere
only forward
wings rigid
pushing away
from the skies above my head
that bird super highway
and when i can tear my eyes from the smokey heavens
my feet tired as they are like lead  can sense the cool soft caressing clover down beneath the holy patch of Earth
regret from my hatchet burial pulley
begs me to take into consideration that some hatchets transform into boomerangs too

the state don’t

night-time the city groans the street she’s made of skin and bones metaphorical of course the trashcan luminaries glow come closer girl witness the yellow flames doing the mambo

the eye fixates on chewing gum chips greens reds blues and whites tanned by side walk bacteria to look like leather lockets

a lonely saxophone sticks out at 7th he sways low and high traffic its ventriloquist serious things do cross my mind not just my trivial troubles

electric gadget old time store shows moving pictures all day long but i think the state the state don’t own my color divisions revisions im fed 24/7 of multimillion dollar fist and knee hustling heroes of the people

the moon flipping me off the feet trudge through the tunnel’s mouth a dollar here a water box there three cups of coffee a Jesus pamphlet a drug lord stare the woman bleeding a call for help an argument here a stare down there and the toothless guys use purple flags to wipe their asses

the state the state you don’t own my color my truth is mine and we the we don’t really clash  the state don’t own their color either

i earn my bread i pay my share to keep the oval circus going but so do they of every hue and be aware that shadiness comes in every tone from every corner of the globe machine don’t use those kids as fodder

i want to be who i was born to let the children go so state the state i feel your scorn but fuck you you’ll never own my color if polished sand ceilings or jealous sisters end my ascendance here at least i’ll die knowing i fought my way with opened eyes and steady brush to take the hands of everyone and paint the tinge of human love inside me

available but not to you

mbrazfieldm (c) 2020

your expectations wants demands tactics tricks and commands are just a mirage
i too can do unto others but i choose not to i am at the disposal of my mind heart and soul exclusively
i break barriers and ceilings with the ultra sonic boom of my love quietly in the middle of time and my shed tears turn into diamonds
from my breast i nourish innocents the army of all
with a turn of my fingers i knit the cloth to shield innocents from the darkness of your claws

iconoclast

when you paint your face

to highlight

the earth

the womb

in your eyes

the beginning

keeper of spark

when you cry

your muscles

hold back

the vengeance

of a super massive black hole

she wolf

protecting her pups

we would think

that you’re illusion

but that simply

isn’t the case

Goddess maker of kings

when the Almighty

anointed them with crowns

it was your blood

that flowed

through their veins

lonely orb

director of the stars

all roads lead

to something

that isn’t very far

mother black crow

sister white dove

cousin gray owl

into the holy

waters dammed up deep

with secret

mystic powerful

graceful silent

ghost humming

hymns of all that’s told

modern wrecker

proof of life

everlasting warrior

immutable light

against the ones

who insist that cloaks

are wise

only you

in all eternity

to come

revolutionary

prophet

i raise my eyes

to behold the

invincible iconoclast