reading Oscar Zeta at the park

sand sifts time valleys blue sound boom traveled since a day before creation the key to who i am at the heat level gamma ray infra black sultana of defiance pigs are rarely ever pink but they always seems to think and they do fly in their communal memory did me know that opposites detract on the sidewalk chalk does not point to the killers as they always wrote in plumes

urbanized safari

the bear caves ripe with shade i go in every night somnambular in waking life there are traces and clues of human nature on the forest floor naked toes step on glass butts used condoms as they make their movement toward the yawning door the bears and zoo have left this wing and moved half a mile to a chic man made compound the trees are pink flamingos brown and the cotton candy makes me blue as i am old but living young the monkeys still amaze me i pet the deer and drool at tigers staring up at me after my tender heart has over flowed with spots on the giraffes backs i go to have a drink and i keep drinking on for days dying in my own captivity

iodine dream catcher

we call it infection thus fever comes hot cold sweat in dream floating away on a cotton boat needles shiny at the end of the bridge approaching me ghosts left over from a mardi gras circa 1874 i only met in pictures shiny orbs rubber balls as the rotten peaches fall into the bell jar tar the road but let me in i want to feel the burning in my vein traverse the universe i don’t think i’m made of clay but i’ll let you think i believe

the four letter kit

mind your etiquette and dress you tarty mess alcoholic in wedding veil left to rot in obscurity behind SS Kress dumpster fiendish queen of violent dream three tours in the cardiac desert come home we’ve no passion for your kind that’s ok i take what i can get karma super bitch with pretty face we get what we deserve my mind is just a wasteland one step two step five step six look down at the sky while the air hits my feet swirling up blood drops on the cuff rational decisions are best served late into the night the bats are hiding near in the tall and ancient magnolia trees with falling fruits into the stream of all thought that crosses here insanity wears lace and stirs that flames of cold remorse of atomic fences way up on the hill hashtags for all reasons but what’s the use if we all like to market pain for glamour and enrichment and my teeth go down the drain

hand

i’ve never really placed much attention to my hands they just work write eat wipe bathe pick scrub love cup stroke pet grope sweat type hold i took them to a man and he injected ink in some places symbols only useful to me oh and i’ve never taken into consideration how much they’ve fought mostly against myself and with people bent on kicking my ass the fingers are aging too crooked they will inevitably be if i’m lucky to get to be that old a little scarred and a little cracked in some bones from falls punches and climbing up or down from walls maybe i was too wild for my hands although i’ve had some feminine moments with polish and rings among other things a woman’s hands are good for my nails are short and i chew them off when no one is around to comfort me the lines on my palms are the secret roadmap i think i have followed in my travels with tiny trenches diving deep and some just cutting off i might have a few knuckles bigger than the rest but that’s ok i want to keep them as a trophy to my life

photo

the alley is dark puddles glimmer in the moon light the cats are purple and there are no children running round tonight that is good there in the distance yellow cars the sons of Pharaoh speak of plans and smoke Camels i float on Broadway toward the Bradbury she is extra tall tonight the ground in front mottled with ancient gum i’m sure Marilyn Monroe spit out a piece the Santeria store next to the Million Dollar venerable church it is i like the dried deer eyes keeps the bad ju ju at bay trust me my ju ju is bad like Samuel L i really dig how the street has evolved and greasy pipes are now historical society protected by town decree thank goodness i love hipsters but i need my bacon real there’s a few street dwellers by tunnel they wave hello in unison hey baby u got a cigarette and i says no brother not today have a nice night and be blessed the buses bloated with emptiness flickering lights and Mountain Dew bottles on the driver’s dash

the flower market

low dopamine today will walk across the bay of foggy mind to pray while the hummingbirds stand tall on wires and trillions of thoughts across the universe of a this city block protest the inhumanity of no more parking lots to buy their marriage cytasters oh what a pity i once said but not no more our beds are made and reality come what may the dragons have come to play and they play dirty winner take all except prisoners ambush the brides and take their baubles we need them for the revolution of which we run from only to find it here again

Sunday school

Photo by mbrazfield 2019

i’ve been having dreams of clouds and angels but in the visions the angels are grotesque explosive different than what tenet of organized religion has shown me they live everywhere in the liquor store the launder mat my potted plant Aunt Ruth’s Chihuahua they are meaty beings with fluffy hands some even smoke cigars my favorite is a Mae West look a like her name is Hortance she has foul language she does with a cockney accent too i’ve been having dreams of me falling through clouds and the angels fall with me i’m screaming my head off but stop mid air every once in a while to check my watch the guardian angels assigned to me smoke way too much pot they’re always late to pick me up when i’ve fallen through Dante’s layers the other day i did ask Fidel if the rumors about him and Che were true but Che floated in with three stiff mojitos we all just quieted down some things are better left to the dead my friend i’ve been having dreams of clouds and angels they hide in the fox holes of the sky boot camp for the war of good and evil amongst men i’ve bruised the tenets a little sorry Ma some things are just so boring some things are just for me to grapple and doesn’t Yahweh forgive our stuff anyway

father’s abstract

i’m dreaming i’m a dude with kickstand and all the equipment i’m not bad looking kind of like Easy Rider Billy hmmm funny how i walk to the whiskey even in my dreams it’s just a dream right oh there’s a chick hmmm she’s mouthy i don’t care for that my middle tingles toughens up a little warmer than before that brunette is quiet her cigarette is sexy what do i do my jeans are super tight i need to wrap my arms around her waist another whiskey man two children who are they hmmm i’m a father the photo says why do i feel like crying shit the guys at the end of the bar will think i’m a pussy oh my God am i really asleep yeah man i’ll take a hit where you from brother Bakersfield i think what brings you into town running from a rap is that your machine outside i suppose it is what year is it brother 1976 my heart it beats fast and heavy the sting of speed is gone a man is a man but inside there’s something wrong fuck no time for that i gotta make the trip yet still i have the nagging weight of Lucy and the kids

soul

inside between the breastplate and the heart there’s a tiny little nook with an itsy blue butterfly her name is soul and she came to be in the mountains of Kashmir when the atoms were still babes blue prints in the grand masters eyes soul lodges there time immemorial and waits measures holds back explodes forward what the mind judges to do at times mostly in the dead of night soul flutters a little spirit revs up becoming restless and soul makes it right she spreads  here sky blue wings to dry the tears welling in my eyes blue soul corner stone of secrets and filter of the lies the weary life the prices paid to walk in fields of grandeur right before crystalline morning comes mind rages war on blue life soul her wings crushed under a stream of poison