Withour a Name
I try so hard
to not exist
to not exist
without a name
to call my love.
Dispossessed, blood
to call my love.
Dispossessed, blood
cools in my veins.
My open heart
is here for now.
I have no code.
My open heart
is here for now.
I have no code.
Come through the door.
Find me inside,
sheltered in place.
Without love, please
Without love, please
show me the way.
Time is a Statue
Time is a statue
of men and women
of men and women
who made alliances
to garner praise
and accolades, some
well-deserved, I guess
to garner praise
and accolades, some
well-deserved, I guess
Some statues are
riddled with pigeon
droppings and graffiti.
Some honored were
the most despicable
humans that ever lived
droppings and graffiti.
Some honored were
the most despicable
humans that ever lived
Murderers, tyrants,
killers of entire races,
genocidal madmen,
criminals with crimes.
I am on the side of the
killers of entire races,
genocidal madmen,
criminals with crimes.
I am on the side of the
pigeons doing God’s work.
As You No Longer Dream
There are no limits.
You will learn later
as you no longerdream. You settle
for the birds that
spread your sacred
words. Your mortal
words. Your mortal
heart and soul will
leave the physical
world. A dying rose
still red wilts in
still red wilts in
the garden. Cold
sheets drape over
your body. Out comes
your last sorrow.
No more sleepless
days. The end is near.
No more sleepless
days. The end is near.
No more weeping days.
You hear the birds
outside. This is the
outside. This is the
last shadow. You can
see it fading all
around you as
you no longer dream.
The Air
I hear the air screaming through the vents.
The air fills my bedroom with coldness.
My face feels like a frozen round stone.
I hear the air screaming through the vents.
The air fills my bedroom with coldness.
My face feels like a frozen round stone.
I do not mind the air when I feel hot.
I do mind it when it freezes my bones.
I don’t like the bill for the luxury of cold air.
I hear the air is the reason I feel sick.
I don’t like the bill for the luxury of cold air.
I hear the air is the reason I feel sick.
I’m reading an article about it right now.
The air is the reason I am frozen stiff.
This poet feels like another ice cube
in the freezer. His verse is as cold as
falling snow. I could be an avalanche.
in the freezer. His verse is as cold as
falling snow. I could be an avalanche.
Alas, I am only human. I feel the air
tickling on my ears. They feel so cold.
I am scared they might fall off.
I am scared they might fall off.
It is getting too cold in my bedroom.
There is too much melodrama here.
I think it is time to put on a coat.
There is too much melodrama here.
I think it is time to put on a coat.
Birds Flying
There were birds flying
out of a mural
There were birds flying
out of a mural
as twilight was dying not
long after banking hours.
They flew into darkness
with frayed black wings
like the birds of the
apocalypse in unison.
like the birds of the
apocalypse in unison.
In the absence of light
their ashes fell on
the grass near the gates
of heaven. I sensed
the grass near the gates
of heaven. I sensed
fear in their song.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal - Born in Mexico, Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Chiron Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Mad Swirl, and Unlikely Stories. He is the author of Raw Materials (Pygmy Forest Press), Peering Into the Sun (Poet's Democracy), and Make the Water Laugh (Rogue Wolf Press).
