Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal works in the mental health field, writes
poetry and short stories. He lives in
Los Angeles County. His latest chapbook, Overcome, was published by Kendra
Steiner Editions, and it is a
collaborative effort with photographer, Cynthia Etheridge.
WITHOUT TELEVISION
The news of another murder on television,
or the news of crooks getting away scot-free
makes me long for the days I watched cartoons.
In those days there were fewer murders.
I could do without television.
I would just stare at mirrors instead.
I would watch myself at noontime
eating an apple. In the evening
I would change the mirrors to another room.
I do not need television.
Maybe without it there would be fewer murders.
Perhaps there would be more.
I think I would read a book instead.
I could turn on the radio
and listen to the untalented musicians
on the popular music stations.
I would complain about what happened to
good music. A mirror would break.
I would long for the days of TV.
The news of murders and crooks would return.
In the evening I would lock all my doors.
THE SOFT EVENING
In the soft evening
we sing without sound
and carve our hearts
and dig out the pumpkin seeds.
Broken of heart we eat
of what is left of it
and descend into the abyss.
THE MOON’S DISEASE
On this night the moon
is not easy to look at.
Its light fills my nose
with a pungent scent.
My lips turn blue and
cold. The distant moon infects
me with a sadness
I cannot escape.
I pace aimlessly
in the black night with the
devils of the soul
whispering to me
to give up my soul to
them for a night of joy.
I become moist with
sweat and defend my
sick heart with silence.
More awake than ever I
keep my soul hostage.
It is all I have.
Unlike my heart, my
soul is intact.
Still I shiver from the
moon’s disease as I
walk in confusion like
a lost child. When I cry out
it is my soul, which
reverberates on
this night, where the moon
is an eyesore. It
fills me with sadness.
I cannot escape.