Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Featured Poet: Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

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.


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.


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.


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.