Sunday, January 04, 2009

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

ed: i think there's something subtly original in Luis' poetry, which is why i'm always thrilled to publish anything he sends.i don't quite know what that quality of originality is--how exactly to define it--but it's there. have a look for yourself and tell us what you think.


I harvest fears
like a worried farmer.
My tools of the trade
are my thoughts.

My nights are sleepless
and my days are long.
I can't stop looking
over my shoulder.

Every step I take
I fear will be my last.
I succumb to
my fears sometimes

and I hide under
my bedcovers.
I worry about
spiders and bedbugs.


I was online at an early hour.
I was living online.
I was one of the stones
in this great online city.

I was the stone Sisyphus
could not budge. I was not soft
and I stood out. Man after
man tried to push me offline.

A minister thought I was evil.
At three a.m. the minister
could not bear my presence.
His sermon e-mails went straight
into my spam folder. I was
an unholy stone in the online city.


I heard another voice
in my head that
put me in a bad mood
and made my heart
beat without rest.

The voice made me shake
from my head to my ankles.

It was not pretty.
Another voice made me come
apart and took my pride.
I was not much of anything.

I asked the voice
politely to get out of my head.
The voice paid me no mind.

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