DAY OFF

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I sit in the quiet room
rejoicing earnestly.
The sun remains outside.
It dares me to come out.
My nose remains in a book.
I live in make believe.

I listen to the silence.
I hush the bird that sings
that prefers the blue skies.
Outside the sun glistens.
I worry about the rent
and living in the wild.

I go back to work tomorrow.
Today I feed the soul.
The freshness of rest works.
I drink in moderation.
The body needs a day off.
The future is uncertain.

RIDE TO HEAVEN

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Do you want to take a ride to Heaven?
I’ll blast you right up there with my six-shooter.
They’ll hold a memorial with much pomp
and circumstance for you, all your friends and
family will be there too, showing their love.

Do you want to take that ride at high noon?
Your spirit will leave the body and despite
the gruesome way you’ll look your pain will
be gone, as your blood spills out of you,
and the life goes out of your eyes.

Do you want to make a choice?  Do I have
to decide things for you?  I aim to please
myself more than you.  I could be bargained
with.  Give me your sob story and maybe
we’ll take that ride together.  I want to go too.

MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Who will want us?
There is evil in our hearts.
Our heads don’t think right.
My prospects dwindle.
Your blue heart splinters.
It does not get easy.
Heaven and Hell attacks us.
We have no shelter.
Our arms hang on us limply.
At midnight we lurk at sea.
The sand covers our eyes.
The moon shines on.
A flash of lightning strikes us.
We cannot defend ourselves
from the angels and demons.

RAISED MYSELF

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I raised myself.
I’m my family.
There is no one,
but me.  I’m a
lone wolf and I
answer only
to God and not
to doctors who
fill me up with
bad medicine.

I want to go
home.  Nobody
should deprive me
of liberty.
If I talk to
myself, no one
should have the right
to silence me.
I am hurting
no one at all.

I raised myself
from the time I
saw the light of
the world.  I was
born this way.  I
see visions and
hear voices no
one else can see.
I have a gift.
I’m the chosen.

I NEED TO STOP

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I need to stop
looking at the moon
I need to stop
thinking of how she smiles.

She is just like
the moon when it is bright.
When she looks down
upon me I feel all right.

I am not one
to wait for things
I cannot change.

I imagine
things.  I imagine
far too much.

A FEW DROPS

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

The rain just teases
and stays away,
a few drops and
a bit of wind.

The birds sing on, perched
on their branches.
I stay in bed
with numbered days.

Perhaps I'll snap out
out of this funk,
sing like the birds,
dance in the rain.

This rain is just fine.
Maybe later
it will burst and
chase the birds and

their song. I'll be up
and change my clothes.
I'll face the world
with a bit of hope.

DEAD WATER

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

In the dead water
I walked
and not even
a ripple.

Filled with grief
I called her name.

I tousled with
the silver shark
of my  imagination.

I called for her
and the water hardened
like a marble floor.

I was up to my waist
immersed in
the dead water.

I was not walking anymore.

SOUL IN THE MIRROR

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

When I look at my soul in the mirror my soul never answers my questions. Its imaginary hands do not wave back. I try to look into my soul, but my soul dissolves before my eyes. However, my soul looks through me and I feel naked inside. My soul’s deadly stare gives me the creeps. I wonder if it is even my soul. I feel an immense emptiness. I go nameless and I run out of breath. I go without memory and everything falls away from me. When I look at my soul in the mirror I feel like it is the beginning of the end of my life.

TROUBLE-MAKERS

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I come from a long line of trouble-makers,

double-talkers, and mirror- breakers.

I don’t know if I’m coming or going.

I don’t know if I’m being or not being.

I get bored and tired of things so easily.

It is more of a curse than a gift. I don’t

think I could ever be comfortable being me.

I look at the mirror and I want to smash it.

I go back and forth pacing aimlessly. It
makes it seem like I am aggressive and

unpredictable. I am a bit of a wild card.

I come from a long line of trouble-makers.

I am just not all there. I watch the world

with a skewed view. I am a contrarian

by nature. I can’t stop who I am. I am

coming like a cross-fire hurricane and

I’m going away like a rolling stone.

WOODEN SONGS

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

The wooden owl
opens its beak
and sings
wooden songs.
I can’t tell you
how well it sings.
The trees
like the songs.
The trees bleed sap
like blood and tears.
The owl
bleeds as well.

The wooden owl
smiles and opens
its beak
and sings for

the bleeding trees
who gave birth to
the owl
long ago.

ON AND ON: 03:06:2016To my friend and wonderful poet, Leonard Cirino, who died March 9, 2012

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

He had not died.
But I was shocked to hear he would die.

On a spring night
his time might come or maybe not.

On a spring day
they would hold a service for him.

On and on I
thought of him and I felt sad.

On a quiet
day his soul would take a stroll

on the beach. His
pain would be gone and there would

be no worries over his condition.

MY STRANGE DREAMS

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I stood beside the dead man.
He did not know he was dead.
I could not hear him talk.
He did not know he was dead.
A little girl in braids held his hand
and this comforted him. This
was one of my strange dreams.
Last week I dreamt I was a fish.

TIRED EYES

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I wake up with tired eyes.
The morning light blinds me.
I shut all the doors and all
the windows and return home.
I fall back into bed to rest
my tired eyes. The world can
wait. I fear the light of day will
kill the little life I have inside.

THE DIVING BIRDS

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

The diving birds reach for the breadcrumbs next to my chair. One bird is gray and the other bird is black. They eat up the breadcrumbs and fly away singing. I look up to where they go and soon lose sight of them. Sitting here at my lunch hour I contemplate life’s problems. Back at the office I have case after case of lives destroyed by madness. Do the diving birds have it easier? I know I have troubles of my own. But at least I’m not being held against my will in a psychiatric hospital. I think I’d like to be a bird for a few moments to experience the sensation of flight and improve my singing voice.

SOBER MORNING

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

The sober morning
put me in a foul mood.
The birds awoke me
and snapped me from my dream.
The clear sky needed
rain and clouds, maybe a
strong wind. I wanted
a fever to make me
go back to sleep and
dream again of her warmth.

HERE I AM

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Here I am below the weather
as the sky pelts me with rain.
I am injured by life’s poor luck,
immobile to love’s desire.
In silence I lick my wounds as
she exists, but is out of
reach. I never been so afraid
to lose something I have no
chance to attain. Her love is for
somebody else. Even I have
to admit it to myself.
Here I am below the dark clouds
taking a shower of rain.
I could hide my tears this evening.

THE INVISIBLE PEOPLE

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

The people were
invisible.
The way they talked
without their mouths
was strange. On their
faces a new
foot-like appendage
supported their eyes,
noses, and mouths.
The entire head
was foot-like, but
they were mere ghosts,
invisible.
I was able
to see them because
I have this gift,
to see things others
cannot see.
But sometimes I
just see what I
want to see and
that is a problem.

DEATH IS LOOKING FOR ME TONIGHT

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Death is looking for me tonight.
It wants to feast on my heart and marrow.
I cannot sleep. I need to move on.
I consult with the stars for guidance.

Death follows me in each direction.
Its pale face smiles, overjoyed in its hunt
across every city I try to hide in.
I keep dreaming of Death without trying.

I know Death could get me anytime.
I tremble in fear when the room goes cold.
At night Death is like a drunken child beater.
I would not get it angry when it’s drunk.

It bids its time and keeps me on edge.
Death hungers for my heart and marrow.
Sometimes I just want it to be done with me.
The stars are not so gentle when Death is near.

THE SNAIL AND THE BIRDS

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

In the gloom of evening
where the lilacs bloom
the dash of a snail is no
blur in slow motion.

A bitter leaf is his meal.
His eyes are cloudy in darkness.
The sonorous sounds of
birds must seem frightening.

The snail must not worry.
It must not weep. It must
go on and live and sleep
in a grassy or dirty bed.

The strong, the swift, and
the evil will always be there.

THE BOOK OF HALLUCINATIONS

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I.

Where the book of hallucinations
begins, a shadow turns the pages
and another shadow highlights
the words. Rocks have voices and
the sun is cool. The shadows fill
with sadness when the book is
closed. There is a secret poem in
the book of hallucinations. A
heart beats for a moment and each
shadow could hear it. They don’t
know what a heart is. They don’t
know for what purpose this heart
beats. How could a shadow know?
The book of hallucinations is not
for the faint of heart. There is no
form in each poem. The rocks who
speak give way to muteness. Their
hardness dissolves to dust and
the grass in the book of hallucinations
calls out to each reader. It calls out
to each shadow, who have trouble
understanding it. The book of
hallucinations puzzles each shadow
and the secret poem begins to beat
suddenly. It is a dazzling poem,
which makes one’s eyes water.
Suddenly, the book of hallucinations
quotes from the Book of Revelation.

II.

Blue birds recite verses from the book
of hallucinations. The blue birds sing
and swoop in the celestial skies. All
through the day the blues birds sing
off key. The book of hallucinations
devours the blue birds. The verses
are highlighted blue by the shadow
who turns the pages. The other shadow
could not remember what color it
always highlighted the book of
hallucinations. Without memory
the shadow which highlighted the book
of hallucinations gave way to serenity.
Both of the shadows felt the beauty
all around. They started to measure
each drop of beauty in the world.
The cool sun dropped rays of light
throughout the morning. The light
rays navigated through each page of
the book of hallucinations and the
blue verses were wiped clean. The
shadow which turned the pages did what
it always did. It left the highlighting to
the shadow which highlighted the pages.
There were fragments of blue wings
throughout the book of hallucinations.
The shadow which turned the pages and
the shadow which highlighted the book
of hallucinations could not remember in
what part of the book the secret poem
was hidden. The blue birds walked from
page to page, through each verse, looking
for a love that flight could not reach.
Waves of blue birds walked on. The cool
sun set their hearts aflame and tore
each of their wings from their bodies.
The secret poem gorged on the blue birds.

III.

In the book of hallucinations there was a
shadow which desperately sought a new
body. The shadow read every single
word in the book of hallucinations hoping
there was some kind of clue there, a place
where it could live in harmony. There was
a shadow which had similar ideas, only
it was not as desperate. It would highlight
every other word in the book of hallucinations.
This shadow was looking for a body with
a pink head. It would highlight every
word from pink to red to white. The shadow
which turned the pages observed the other
shadow and feel a certain uneasiness. In
the book of hallucinations there was no
guaranteed harmony. Each shadow kept its
hopes and dreams alive as best they could.

IV.

Words would dissolve without warning in
the book of hallucinations. Sometimes
blood would spurt out of certain pages from
time to time. The cool sun would release rays
of light and wipe the blood off. The cool sun
was always around in the morning and in
the afternoon. By the time evening settled in,
the cool sun would be gone. It would always
return the next day. Inside the book of
hallucinations, there was an old heart which
would beat on and on. The old heart would
beat faintly. The cool sun behind the moon
would drop rays of light toward the old heart.
It would go silent. The old heart did not like
being silenced. It would start beating louder
and louder the moment the cool sun was
not around to silence it with its rays of light.

V.

The rocks in the waves would speak, but no one
understood what they said. One particular
rock in the book of hallucinations could throw its
voice. It could sing like a blue bird. This rock
had great range, but only for a few hours. In
the book of hallucinations, there was a shadow
which turned its pages. It did not understand
what each poem said. However, the shadow would
recite each word. There was another shadow which
highlighted every other word. It would never
recite each word. In the book of hallucinations
the shadow which turned the pages had a pronounced
stutter, which was dreadful. Fortunately,
the shadow lost the stutter and eventually its voice.