when i was

mbrazfield (c) 2020

in a room 1942 there i stood walking slow lights aglow in silent agony

across my street i heard the feet of the walkers in the dark

my eyes they’d dart inside and out of those walls that did contain me

on my lips a hunger creeped that caused my throat to scream in silence

and in these halls the books do hold the history of everything

my arms they mourn that he is gone away from the safety of my hold

and in this home i live alone because outside there stands the lie that is the bane of my existence

California Covid sun

following the gray marbled filigree of last month’s mud on sidewalk downtown farmers market hot with California Covid sun

the cherries look tempting but the purple Peruvian potatoes go great with olive oil pink salt and cumin my face tightly masked chewing the fat with the book vendors afoot offering their home address for their monthly ‘hope we get laid’ poetry reading salon

then the urban crows catch my eyes they with E A Poe smiles rainbow oil slick feathers shine under that California Covid sun

Dr. TL tongue tab flash back dream hits me like a polar breeze suddenly there is baby Grady golden brown moppy hair blue Keds size three and an uncle with soldier rough hands smiling at me

no sooner than a tear peeks into my water line a sonic whistle from Spring Street punctures my loser mind Lola Ramirez on the weekends and Manny Sandoval during the MF 9 to 5 she a purple paisley mu mu gold earrings and Michael Kors sack me black t shirt with the face of Siouxsie Sioux paper Trader Joe’s bag both aging X’ers under that California Covid sun

Lola and i float to the flower stand and her throat crooned in a Yucatanian Spanish slang enchanting and schmoozing the vendors so i get to pay ten bucks for a 50 dollar assorted calla lily bunch

the 4 am 3 cup Turkish coffee buzz wore off and dull knife pain from old injuries descend upon my left arm so i shared a dream that a cool boy once had while Lolita and me sipped iced black pressed molassesed coffee under that California Covid sun

Prométhée la femme

tearing through the artificial dim

of the skyline in her eyes

and the gods did give commandments

through the sky the lightning cried

dabbing gently on the canvas

all the might inside of me

in the old fortress once a bank

where earthly gods now adorn the bricks

i cusped my trembling splattered digits

to my tender lips hoping that the god won’t

make me pay for stealing his precious colored rainbow

to lead us on our way