Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal


Smoking Cigar 

Cigars are smoking cigar smokers,
Whips are whipping, whipping jokers.
Curds are curdling, curdling curdlers.
Dressers are dressing the dress makers.



The Violet Voice

Night dies a slow death
as your voice fades at last.
Sweat condensation
saturates my soft bed.

Your voice is far away.
I cannot forgive it.
Like a breeze it will
return with my sadness.

Your voice is one of five
voices, a bouquet of
sorts, wilting at times.

Yours is the violet voice,
so disquieting. It is the swan’s
neck that must be wrung.



Honey is Missing

In a jar of bees
honey is missing.

In a swap down south
frogs are kissing.

What use is a buck
when you need two?

Rain falls precipitously
when you swim with sharks.

Funny is fun when
nobody gets hurt.

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Mad Swirl, Otoliths, Unlikely Stories, and ZYX.

 
 

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