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Four Poems

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

 

 

SPIDER BITES

I am Spider.
In 1960 I learned
to crawl.
In 1940 I woke up
with spider bites.

I am French and
I am an Englishman.
I speak
each language when
I'm not Spider.

I'm trying to be born
again. I want to
be a man.
I want to walk on two
feet. I want to dance.

I let my web fly
from the earth to the sky.
I take
mushrooms to see
all things askew.

When I'm man and
no longer Spider, I
will be called John Doe.
I will go surfing.

In the ocean
I will be Fish. I
will swim.
when I drown man
and Spider won't

be spared. In 2006
I will learn to
be born again.
There won't be spider
bites next time around.



BEATING ON THE HEAD LIKE A CONGA DRUM

I told the punk
to respect
his elders.
He talked smack all
evening long.
I lost it.

I grabbed a hold
of his head
and beat it
like a conga drum.
It felt all
hollow. No

good music came
out of his
stupid head.
All that happened
was the cops
taking me

to another
psych ward. They
said I was
impulsive and
that I had
no control.

But my hand was
steady when
it beat time
on that melon.
I made the
best of it.

I tell you, no
good music
could be made
with such a head.
I tired to
say sorry.

But it was much
too late and
I was held
for three days, then
another
fourteen days.



SLEEPING PILLS

I need another
sleeping pill.
I am so weary.
I want rest.

I need death to come
to put a
lid on my tired eyes
and body.

Maybe tomorrow
I will be
in a much better
place than this.

The painkillers don't
do a thing.
I've had this nagging
bug inside

where my heart is. I
bet it has
eaten a hole clean
through because

I don't feel love and
I don't feel
life. I only want
life to end.

The doctor will not
give me what
I want. I want some
sleeping pills.

I want a bottle
of them to
put my miserable
life away.



AGAINST THE SUN

Under the iron
Pressing down
From the sky.

Its rigid laws of
Science burns
Throughout me.

I melt as its rays
Devour me.
As I shake

A tired first at it,
Its brilliance
Shines me on.

I have nothing to
Offer it.
I cannot

Reason with it. My
Lips are dry.
I'm speechless.

Copyright © Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal 2006

Mexican-born Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal's first book of poetry Raw Materials was published in 2004 by Pygmy Forest Press. His broadside In the House of the Butterflies was published by New American Imagist. Luis poems have been published in Spanish and English. He can be reached at: Cuatemochi@aol.com.