Charlie’s cough

Charlie grew weaker
from the old
1940s window pane
i’d hear him
then one dusk
in September nothing
a few days
passed i rummaged
the building’s trash
casually looking for
unexpected art supplies
it seemed Charlie’s
kin tossed out
everything that he
possessed and of
no advancement for
them pedigreed relatives
yet in my
quest for treasure
troves i found
from Ohio an
old Glessco bottle

mbrazfield (c) 2015

slurs of lunatics

mbrazfield (c) 2022

at night is when i like to see

all those things that mean to me

the most and yet are so simple

at night is when i like to feel

through those little childish trinkets

the force of the world’s throat

speaking to me

at night is when i like to think

that those ideas imparted through pictures

teach me to be me

at night i sense the echoes

that bounce from my own glass ceilings

suspended by wildflower buttons

and the slurs of lunatics

at night i taste the salt of tears

erupting from the memories

of how i came to be

the keeper of these silly little trappings