Poetry; Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Born in Mexico, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poetry book and chapbooks have been published by Pygmy Forest Press, Deadbeat Press, New Polish Beat, Propaganda Press/Alternating Current Press, Kendra Steiner Editions, and Rogue Wolf Press. His poems have been published online and in print at Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Mad Swirl, Setu, and Unlikely Stories.

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And the Sky Was Blue

I drew a red house without windows,

painted yellow and green beak-less birds 

without wings, and the sky was blue.

I painted skeleton-men with uneven bones.

I painted a flower with pink and gold petals.

I painted a complete city without trees,

a burning sun with a half-opened eye,

and the sky was blue.

***

Jealous of My Coat

I stand, a ghost at my burial,

the coat I wear fancies flight,

and off it soars above the clouds.

The coffin is lowered, and I feel

so cold. I look away and see

nothing unique about this rite.

The sun took a sick day because

it is nowhere in sight. I feel a

soft caress from the wind and

rain. I cannot deny I am jealous

of my coat. The spring rain seems

endless this gray afternoon.

I shed tears for the last time.

I am waiting for night and my coat.

***

The End of Time

Here lies my time.

It is up before

I take a step. I

need to get away

to when I was young.

It only gets worse.

I live a nightmare

life in a sea of sharks.

We are on this ship

sailing away to

the end of time. We

navigate confusion

with anxious minds.

We fall apart as

we mirror each other

as tomorrow ends.

***

Feeling Nothing

Feeling nothing,

I find myself happier,

without pain,

alive even,

without affliction.

Nothing affects me,

not the dread of fear,

not even one night

of terror sneaks

into my dream life.

I hardly feel

the sun on my flesh.

I slide into

my tomb headed

to a place I do not know.

***

Quiet the Voice

Quiet the voice

of

this nonsense

that seems to grab

you by the throat,

this flat voice

that wants to kill you

while the sun shines

down your throat.

The voice is on

a mission to

destroy your day

early in the morning.

The voice

is nothing like rain.

It is wrapped in sunlight.

***

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Setu, November 2022