nail biter

we sat there just flopped on the hot sticky sidewalk waiting for inspiration to get up and walk i was the nail biter of the pack Nate was the food finder Noodle was the weed finder and one eye Byrna was just one eyed Byrna we thought that we might go panhandle in front of Clifton’s but there were two problems the first was that men thought i was a boy prostitute and after i’d animatedly correct the would be johns LAs finest would get called never a good idea for underaged Clash fans looking for meaning and a mellow yellow evening the kids got tired and took the bus home i walked over to the Cecil and loitered outside watching portly gray and brown pigeons bathing in grimy puddles under the city lights

black nail polish

quiet afternoon sunny beyond the window lemon trees surrounded by weeds and a hummingbird at the flower my stereo’s on low but playing hard old time country music human nature tortured love etc Serge Gainsbourg starts to cum through on my airwaves my tangled roots stars of David in my eyes although there really has never been anything royal about my life Trader Joe’s tamales red hot steamy from the microwave ping ping ping my mother’s veil and daddy’s trail of buxom broken hearts the colors bleed the auras peek out around my shut tight eyes then the time arrives when i don’t give a shit and i paint my eyes my mood and my nails black

meine patina

mbrazfield 2019 (c) gouache on paper

Buk it’s 2020

my hero Hanky baby

and i’m still alive

these last few days

i’ve surveyed her face

our whore saint city

don’t fret she loves us still

these last few days

i’ve driven by

the schools i’ve been in

i don’t remember a damned thing

my first day of pre school

i was late

on account my dad had to wait

in the Mobil lines for five hours

hey Buk

do you remember

these last few days

every grade year the same old shit

the Pilgrims the marches the maths the farces

the Nina the Pinta the Santa Maria

Sesame Street Hee Haw Fat Albert and Lawrence Welk

and by the time Ronnie Raygun came around

i was branded diagnosed exposed and pigeonholed

the patina of fine psychobullshitary

casted on my soul

these last few days

intuitively speaking Buk

i don’t feel its right to blame

after all i have a conscience

id ego and a touch of naughtiness too

i don’t want to go down that way

remember the time over on Las Palmas Ave

when i called the principal

the devil’s panty liner

i had more class

than to just call her a knit wit

verbal theatrics have been

my little blue bird

these last few days

my bones hurt more

i linger by the antioxidants

and pay some attention

to the collagen talks

my hair line fractures

from the days of Face

are bald and angry

so i take turmeric supplements

during the day

these last few days

the stains of my sins

are rinsing away

leaving a fall hued patina

glazed on my spirit

these last few days Buk

the beer bottles on the streets

cigarette butts and paper sheets

blowing in the wind

make me feel sentimental

where has most of my life gone

is this what happiness is

to feel the bumps upon my skin

the knuckles of my hands

being cupped by my finger tips

as i walk under the bridge

where the many roads

to numbness took me

these days i swear Buk

i have felt

an orgasmic magnificence

flow through my veins

but there are still

some challenges

an LA woman

Pic by mbrazfield (c) 2019

im no different

i too bleed

i too drink

i too breath

i too think

i too speak

i can wear

a suit and

shiny diamond rings

i can fuck

a woman or

a man if

i want when

i want there

is plenty to

go around in

this town i

can steal beg

borrow die live

catch a disease

have a cock

sewn on or

my pussy stitched

shut i can

love and hate

worship and sin

i get tickets

and big debt

i can write

and wait tables

sell the story

make you cry

or laugh depending

on how i

feel about it

i too can

show passion for

the things that

make society gag

i can figure

things out for

myself and buy

a house and

marry three men

i can walk

the streets alone

very late at

night and see

the children writhing

engulfed in their

pain euphoric to

the all great

equalizer who comes

when she wants

only and claims

those who have

had no time

i can watch

sit back relax

or run scared

out of my

head from the

boogey man or

woman you can

be just as

oppressive baby don’t

tell me no

look in my

eyes my queen

i give you

a description of

your cloudy soul

i can fight

but there are

some things that

i will die

for and won’t

think twice about

it my freedom

my voice and

right to be

me not a

victim or a

trophy i refuse

to be shackled

by diagnosis political

label or join

the sorority of

hypocrisy and vanity

yes i am

a woman free

now i understand

when i got

called rock headed

it served to

break that glass

ceiling and shoot

me to the

infinate frontier of

my own agency

my own democracy

i follow my

drum and i

will share all

with my sisters

but i will

never apologize for

who i am

how i am

what i am

why i love

when i go

where i stand

in this anthem

i proclaim equality

heart of the matter

i love going to the hills

atop Silver Lake

where i can see Hollywood

my home my western shore

my dusty concrete paths

winding with a promise

to all that we are alive

in the City of Illusions

and that life is no illusion after all

paradox is my goddess

and Los Angeles my church

my habit was my pope

and my grit was my curse

perhaps we all strive

to go back home to reconcile

the hemorrhaging broken vein

and that’s all we want

cloudy head

pic by mbrazfield 2019

i didn’t always know

that life would be

ok

i was never sure

who would be there

but

my understanding of the

workings of the world

would

arrive some day i

guessed a lot at

seven

so i watched the

war planes fly fast

t.v.

kept my heart curious

about how life could

have

been but didn’t quite

happen that way for

me

but i have ten

fingers and ten toes

i

can still walk and

talk although nonsense it

may

be and i can

laugh and sing off

key

and i can find

those old reels of

the

blitzkriegs and still feel

the sadness for the

world

my head those clouds

i somehow knew well

just

a child i was

lost in the luftwaffe

of

life’s adults who were

possibly less well equipped

than

me a little kid

mastering the power to

heal