Poetry: Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Born in Mexico, Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have been published by Blue Collar Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, Red Fez Publications, Unlikely Stories, and Yellow Mama Magazine.


Back in bed
I go back
to dreamland.

It takes too
long sometimes.

I read a
book that will
knock me out.

I read a
book about
the cosmos.

I get lost
in space till
I am deep

in dreamland
doing things
I could not

do in real


I become distracted
listening to the rain.
The water gets into my brain
and I become light-headed.

The rain at night is not
like the rain in the daytime.
At night the rain takes my mind.
It becomes mist in the fog.

I watch the rain bend as it falls
and twist into odd figurations.
Listening to it is an obsession.
It has me bouncing off the walls.

The rain takes hold of my senses.
It haunts me while I sleep.
I feel it become a part of me.
When I weep the rain listens.


Consumed by
the moment,
it was clear,
the running
clock like flesh
burning slow,
in quicksand
I slipped in.
That woman,
her gaze and
her eyes, had
me burning.
In her depths
is where I
lied. At first,
it felt great.
A love bloomed.
I took flight.
In truth, I
closed my eyes.
That woman
and her spell.
That woman
is splendor.


Don’t let the word
take a back seat
to doubt. Bring it
forth in whispers
until it starts
to twist and shout.

Say it like it
wants to be said.
Raise your voice. Wake
the dead. Say it
without regret.
Just go ahead.

If it sinks, it
will rise. It will
catch its breath. If
it swims, the sharks
will learn that words
are sharp as well.


Say nothing.
Laugh inside.
Make silence.
Search dreams.
Sleep deep.
Open your mind.

Break the stone.
Be the shadow.
Color the sky.
Unbind your hands.
This is it.
This is all.

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