thank you

pin head rain drops fall the slugs arise from slumber

my steps uneven ballerina slippers getting soggy

but somehow it’s ok my world isn’t asunder

there it is my favorite corner French iron wrought patio furniture and a mural of Mexican bolsheviks on the wall

stepping up to the bar she smiles awake and wide product of the prozac nation landslide

triple espresso red eye no room for anything

thanks are in order i bless her heart with crooked sinful fingers i tip her jar

a chair is chosen for me the usher mysterious and melancholy lures me next to him

he scoots over cigarette stink on his beard but he smiles despite his need to be left alone

i sip ladylike against my physical appearance a contrast in being

he turns his face to me glimmers in him golden eyes tilting his face i notice the wrinkles around his mouth wondering why my eyes have no glimmers

he sips the coffee sliding down his throat a barely there inaudible gulp he pardons himself

as the majesty that he has made me i accept his kind regret and we sit quietly in the eclectic cafe being alone together

doulas

sand dunes gray breathing quietly the wind caresses smiles on them like new born babies

those who witnessed the sunrise shiver slightly humming and blessing the horizon their hands usher a new voice

mothers with strong courageous hearts the most sacred foundation for the tiny roots to rise

washing off the stubborn stains of ignorance and calcified time

paving plowing and clearing paths where God and water there do clash and angels become mothers

element

if the rust stained bones in my frame

were to ever get a chance again

to glide across the universe

look into Pandora’s jet white eyes

and smell the lighted stars

like people sniff the roses

my soul to keep i’d give away

to plug the holes

and pave new ways

for dusk to kiss the lonely hearts

for dawn to inter the bitter crop

from where my old roots are rotted

i’d be a renegade of love again

with bombs of ear drums

i would fight

to give a spot to everyone

in God’s angelic choir

if the sacred morning dew

can forgive me

for not being wide awake

in baptizing my sinful state

in the worldly river of life

reason being i was up all night

marching behind my sisters and brothers

blinded by the poisoned dark

with intent to guide them out

of their imposed upon madness

or if the maidens of the light

would prefer to bring me back

i would want to be

a lightning bolt

looking to correct

the wicked negatives of the cold hard ground

with the positives in the celestial clouds

to quench the crops of kindness

that are drying out

yet in all honesty

i’d be more than content

to come back as a rainbow colored bubble

making some kid laugh

let me count the ways

pic by mbrazfield (c) 2019

life you have this annoying way of walking by as i’m trying to see a point of view prescribed by a cold and sterile man

take today for instance i’m just whistling by on my way to the corners pungent with wet filth and frothy with human madness

every prophet will eventually go back to her house yet i am neither saint nor prophet but just a sinner looking for faith

here in front of me stands the place where we yes you my soul conscience and mind dwindled childhood away waiting for the unknown without fear bloated with arrogance

tallith

at moon’s end

i find myself

trying to stitch

back together

what i so vehemently

spent so many years

tearing apart

the light is subtle

too feeble for me to thread

needles of apology

remorse or redemption

yet i continue on

finger tips pale

pricked by bitter reminder

of gaping tears

i tore into the fabric

of decency and self-dignity

with offerings of woolen prayers

i attempt to mend and patch

a heart sullen with snags and rips

to no avail

on most any day

then every so often

the rays of light

knit me a magnifying glass

and in subtle ways

i toil at weaving

a better human fabric

for myself

of which i make offerings

of tzitzit embroidered with the shame

of tails in between my walking legs

with seams of hope

that mercy will be granted

at the ending of my new day

aerial was i

twilight is a little jagged

rays of Sun’s arms

tremble as Earth opens his

blue doors to her

the marriage bed set

and i’m growing my wings

to fly in the mocha of the night

he beckons my common senses

and i dive into a certain

constructed abyss

my back it labors

as the vestiges

of alabaster hued flight

carries my sins away

then just as quickly

as the virgin blossoms

my wings disappear

into the waking Sun

her face beaming with hope

and as night and i

we go our different ways

my back rested

city aflame

my life clean slated

soul light as a feather

cheveux indisciplinés

i love the color of my hair

brown red and in some places pink

my tired legs and lined filled hands

eyes that stare flat beyond the sky

and a mind that has lost the hard shell

of youthful indulgence and inexperience

i love my lips still round and plump

and the new found freedom

of spouting my own thoughts

that are crafted with the filigree of wisdom

i love my face

oh those expression lines

that will never be usurped by botox

my cheek bones high and tight

to frame a genuine smile at the wind

i love my hair when she gets wild

and i walk the streets of Beverly Hills

stroll in the Rolls Royce isles

worn out Chucks with the strategic tears

where the toes are too tight

salesmen follow me with Lysol cans

and their neat white gloves

that eradicate the traces of the hoi polloi

the hair a right of passage glorious

furious bright riot

reminding me that my agedness

is a catalyst to the third eye lens

from where i can finally see

the dimensions of the world

the good and the bad

and really only give a damn

about the moments that matter

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

…now sleep in it

in my age

i just learned

how good it

feels to wake

up in my

bed so warm

and soft and

inviting some say

it would feel

like the hug

of a mother

but in my

age this is

all i have

created by my

own unsure hand

early bird special

when i die i’m curious how my skull will look will i have all of my teeth my grave robbers won’t find gold will my nose holes be like a heart i wonder when i steam Botan i like to eat it hot with rice vinegar and a little toasted sesame seed oil how do you take yours love my toe nails well yeah they are a little chipped i guess i’ll get around to them soon this week lazy really no not true i just don’t think my toes are that important do you like my drawings i like the term avant gard between you and me that means i don’t have a rats ass worth of talent but if i pretend it’s a Polaroid of my soul with a few foreign words painted on the rich matron will buy it they love missed spelled words too makes them complete knowing they saved a wretch like me my hair yeah what’s wrong with it oh a nest really i ran my fingers through it when i washed it in the morning but do you think that they will put 10 pounds of mustard seeds in my skull or will the vandals toss it round my chop sticks feel crooked i better stop putting them in the dishwasher i suppose my tits yeah didn’t you hear about Newton’s law of gravity dude what is this by the way how’s your prostate been i’m a lady so i won’t speak of the southern-most half of your equator