missing from my mind the blackbird looms
hoping to haunt my thoughts
but i’m beyond elusive
you must not take a step i whisper
or i’ll denounce you
expose you to the
missing from my mind the blackbird looms
hoping to haunt my thoughts
and i withdraw my smile from him and send kisses to the gulls instead
the innocents and the vagabonds
and the coroner’s men
know the secret
my head
missing from my mind the blackbird looms
hoping to haunt my thoughts
but i’m beyond elusive
my lips pursed
fly up lest you drown
me up
in your desire to comfort
my pain
you want them to cry for me at the
missing from my mind the blackbird looms
hoping to haunt my thoughts
and i’ve become so jaded inviting him
in the fire of the midday sun
and the eyes of the gods are away from me
i wish him so long
and happy he
so he flies from me
with a quiet beak
out of my mind i cemented his
and we wake apart in loneliness as such
without the
printed chants
bitter poisoned dreams
the ones where mercy sinks
and i wonder
do we

mbrazfield (c) 2023

poem inspired by Bukowski’s The Bluebird for NaPoWriMo 2023

minimalist regrets

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
before this moment
i remind me that i’m not enough
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

high voltage

mbrazfield (c) 2021

let us praise sweet baby Jesus
for this liver of mine
these combat boots circa 1989
the fuck you nose in the air Lost Angelina flair
thank my lucky stars for me growing up between the nickel and old school Hollywood
i like a mold among the sparkly tinsel glow of all of those who have come and gone
but i am still here, ha!
and to the goodness let us thank you too for gifting me the shadows of Bukowski’s foot steps his words and his bungalows over on the east side
thank you universe for allowing me the courage or something to taunt my teachers with the scratching of my internal she balls
and my mohawk and knee scabs after countless drunken skateboard falls while attempting to take a calculus test
thank you God for the life You have let me have and the free will to let me feel the punching caresses of the days gone by

broken sailor

Leonard sang of Him a broken sailor.
a sheppard in a foreign land long lost.

me a foreigner in my own iced soul.
always stomping on black soften thin ice.

wondering if He and me have thin soles.
and if we were Him would we get thorny crowns.

or would the thorns on our sides be our heads.
He stands there watching for eternity.

the state of my people eternal too?
for bread is not enough we need love too.

will You come to us on earthly matters.
at some point we’ve become judges all here.

the court of man is densely packed with noise.
Leonard sang of Him a broken sailor.

mbrazfield (c) 2022

Veronica’s mind

her madness
like hell’s
crossed roads
blacker than
where Holy
doesn’t stay
her pain
like super nova
she too
far into
that left
turn forrest
of life
among the
roads and
fine wines
French perfumes
church luncheons
insanity waits
for her
to step
off that
daily stage
like if
she were
perfectly happy
as the
summer in
a postcard
painted valley

mbrazfield (c) 2021

trilobite, us redux

hey its me any little girl here in the land of Califa
standing here
watching pixelated faces lecture me
Mrs. K spits
as the psyche creaks
politicos burrow into the livers
the decorated soldier begs in vain
dog puke dog and starves to death
and any one rich man holds the Sun hostage

we’ve arrived as widowed child wives old at 17
mutated as this
guilted to breathe it in
carefully engineered rhetorical prison
abandoned lots with broken earth
and wifi chambers force my heaving love to transfer through a tiny yellow ball
long gone by the days of my defense of common sense our bloods leak out of the pipelines

cut from this a thorny dress for me to wear when i cross the fields of certain death
mouth cannot afford to feed so we label it starvation chic Spring collection 2022
from a city where His houses are closed but the fuck joints spread eagle open
and instead of elevating our children to a sacred garden
your success plan exclusively gives us their early termination option involuntarily of course

beat into this
bleeding and punching at it
punching at it
punching at it for this
self sacrificing to it
choking like it
because of greed
used by it
raped and sodomized by it
sold down the sewer by it
indentured to it
turned stupid through it
sterilized  by it

the soul cauterized
hands plucked off
the tongue
the dust
the micro wave
broken fists bow to the 5G gods and all of the ROC’s men
my rivers polluted
my children can’t swim

somnambulant diagnosis reach for the

we’ve voted into this desperate resignation but somewhere in those pigeon holes i am alive
but we’ll pay into the bottomless recession
that put together with our farthest most ancestors brought back from heaven can’t help us from debt
commandments will be outlawed for AI commanders
turn in thy neighbor will be a passport to breathe one more 8 hour pain filled day
charity will be uselessly lewd
schooling will be punished
the Statue of Liberty shall pawn her torch for three dollars
God particles will slice time wide open
the horned beasts will be the priests
because hell hath no fury like the secretary of state scorned

the new world order hid away Galileo’s brain under the Sepulveda Pass
law will pass
nature will pass
we will pass
men on fire will eat men of eternal flames
those who are spared will be consumed by the madness of the NYSE silent bell who tolls for the all known
space stations will be the new sub stop
packed lemmings with visible dog tags
shooting off operation warp speed go go go to build castles in the clouds for them if there’s a future Florida

lord Silly Con forbids your show of common grace Queen Squad will soon order you off with my head simply because she can but she’s not a she because thee real She is kindness

as they stare

they treat me any kind of way
thirteen pounds of furry muscle
they demand as they stare at me
guilt me with otherworldly cuteness
i beg and i plead my very soul to keep
for a headbutt or a tail hug
to no avail
i rush into the kitchen room
they like sentries cold in their eyes of jewel
manipulate me to open their favorite chow
and place hers on the dinning table
he satisfied to be served on the counter tops

Bean and Phoebe 2022

Vietnamese grandpas

as a child by the river i’d sit
watching birds and tin cans
faded reds with silver coca cola brand
the Vietnamese grandpas were fishing

for hours studying the leaves
grownups  brawling and guzzling their beer
speaking of politics and the cost of living
the Vietnamese grandpas were fishing

and my innocence of mind would cause a wonder
did the birds have veins like my tree leaves had tucked away between the feathers on their wings
the Vietnamese grandpas were fishing

and when the time came to leave my clan i headed to a school
and i studied nature in a most unnatural of states
when i began to see it all the universe like the light of day
the leaves the birds the skies stars and twigs
they all had veins like the ones i saw
as i received smiling foreign words pats on head and soda cans
down by that river bed
from the Vietnamese grandpas who were fishing