Saturday, March 1, 2008

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

The Pepper Tree

The pepper tree seemed so old
This morning. Broken branches littered
The soft dirt, where grass
Once grew when I was
A boy. I used to play games there.
My brothers and sisters used to smoke there
As if hidden from view. A
Rope would be looped around
The branches now gone, which
Held up the birthday piƱatas.
My father often sat under it
Reading a book or
Just enjoying its shade on hot afternoons.
As the years have shuffled through more branches
Have fallen on their own. Scars
Appear where limbs broke off. Birds continue
To make their lives there, singing songs of
Morning, afternoon, and evening. The pepper
Tree stands, a witness of our lives.

Road Rage

My blood boils over.
The purity of
Anger colors my
Cheeks. Anger dwarfs me.
I brim with it as
It darkens my heart.
I am insane to
Be so angry. I
Cannot blame youth for
Hiding the tender
Spot in my heart. I
Cannot fight the world.
Wisdom blurts out, drive
Away your road rage

Lovely And Sad

At dawn
I crawl
back to
my cave.
It is
and sad,
my life.
I do
not die.
I live
at night.
is not
kind to
my type.
I feast
on frogs,
and those
sad souls
who leave
this world
a trace.
Blood is
my life
and wine.

A Dog’s World

I need wisdom.
I don’t need medicine.
I need the advice
Of a German shepherd.
I have had it
With psychiatrists
And their rounds, one minute
Of “How do you feel?” when
I’m blunted on
Legal drugs, which destroy
My manias
And hallucinations.
I need to hear
Advice from a dog’s
Perspective. A
Bark of wisdom, which man
Cannot provide.
This world is going to
The dogs anyway. This
Is how I feel. Write it
All down in your
Progress notes. I don’t
See much hope, but
I have not given up.

After Evening

The voice in the moon
Whispers nothing sweet.
It disturbs me from sleep.
In the next room a
Madwoman hears a
Cloud. Her eyes fill with rain.
After evening wolves
Patrol the hallways.
They howl at the voice in
The moon, which shines its
Light through my bedroom
Window. The madwoman
Knocks on my door, says
The wolves have gone, asks
If I’d like to join her.

*Previously published in Why Vandalism

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