Loneliness

my life stuffed

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

between 3 and sunrise shift
my eyes stay wide open
aches of muscle and moments passed
regrets are very minimal
thoughts deftly switch from history
to your lips and how dry and harsh they were to me
then a statistic or two or three
will break the catatonia
my life stuffed into the thought of you only
brings to light that i have wasted precious time

self

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

orange peels fresh in the sink
my finger tips scented by their honey
outside the heat lectures the breeze
little birds lined up fluffy down ornaments
i ask myself
self what will you do today
and i answer i dont know
you do that everyday self
arent you tired
and i answer yes but not like how you think
the birds are still
the window thick but i can read their beaks i know theyre singing
and i say to self
self how about oatmeal
the Irish kind with a little cream and fresh peaches
starring with blank eyes
at the punk rock collage
stirring the cinnamon and sugar
my 4 year old self giggles out from the jar
pig tails tan corduroy dress
bare tiny foots and a Disney coloring book
self instructs me to stand
and i walk away from her

dendrite and soma

/ mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments

the network of your arms
strong like a cedar tree
fingers from both of our hands
connecting transporting us
to those sinfully delicious places
our animal scents my sweet flavors
pony express urgently
via dendrite and soma
speeding messages between our hearts
mine located where a heart should be
yours more toward your mid center

the other stars

/ mbrazfieldm / 9 Comments

at night with the party of stars
the stars in the sky i mean

i sit in quiet tender happiness
on the summer eve sidewalk of Sunset and Vine

my eyes scan the shoes
some old some new
there is history in the step
some style some regrets

at night when traffic dies
buses groan and open their doors
warm freon stink hisses
no one exits they just sit

my hands play
with blue Bic pens and loose sheets
their surface wrinkled tears
happiness of simple truths recorded there

at dawn barley curtains fall
the stars have took their bows
coffee’s bitter cocoa moan
stirs my knees and center

in the newness of the old city yawn
where i died lived and was born
onto this place where my soul has soaked in this world is my happiness

love songs

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

those songs sweet piano notes the ones sung by Adele hurt the most as they remind me of what dad did to mom

those words from boisterous guys showing off on bended knee their devotion perfection and digits of currency in worship of me will someday soon turn lethal

those men with delusions of being the righteous new species from Adam came and it won’t change that they are internally afraid of what their daddy did to their momma

from time unknown we flow and go turning around in circles a pull a push in darkness beams and the light sometimes is not that clear

even tears give up before our heart when we slip into children playing dress up me mommy’s shoes you daddy’s boots the familiarity of violence

time does not heal no matter how much it says in the public service announcement the warning signs the stacking cans of fire water rage combustion on music notes the peaceful hoax of love everlasting

reason

/ mbrazfieldm / Leave a comment

home slightly gray moon shadows of the catsjeweled eyes aglowscent of orange by couchi hesitate and sigh quietly like when i pretended to prayday long hard patches of humanity where tiny flowers growred like blood warm like thunder roars when in your arms i wasbefore waking from that stagnant dreambland counter kitchen clean black red Japanese bowlholding my spaghettioswarm shower awaits ssssshhhhhhheeeeeeeit complains coconut patoulli soup loofah scrub north to souththe sin is rinsed away beloved side of bedmy body you will takeinto uneasy rest

nothing quickly chasing me

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

swirling lava holy water

smoke eyes turn off

don’t look down up 

or to the sides

don’t look in the heart

or speak to the breeze

hear for beats of far off drum 

they’re marching inching to the end

maybe for the best

drips drops of pain

pictures of her

inside of him

innocent perhaps

but i’ll never know the truth

so yesterday was i

but understood

i promise you

the wider my smile 

the stronger the pain

of where i think i see this going

edged cliff here i go

nothing quickly chasing me

where crows go to bury their dead

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

a tight jawed loon that’s what i’ll be

silently i will slink

behind the dying ugly trees

they die like a Shakespearean villain

across from the dirty river

their dusty peeling trunks

looking like they wear shoes

but its only beige mushroom caps

growing from an addict’s turd

ant trail metropolis up and down

the droopy branches bound by old cassette tape ribbon

the sugar burdens on their little thorax

weighing just as much

as the burdens on my curved shoulders

obscure illusions and esoteric lies

the native boulders akin to WCF’s face

emblazoned with red stripes and nonsense

the names of petty thief street artists

stretching down from the lived in hill

where crows go to bury their dead

dime sized nettles in my unkempt hair

will tangle with the strands in silence

and with a little time

the thorns of broken thoughts ruptured memories

will burrow even deeper

like wet mud i step into it

but quiet i will be

be silent the people have spoke

a stone chorus in space

i hear them on cold nights

they are getting colder by the way

i’ll glance beyond the conniving lights

alone out of the way and in silence