WHEN THE RAIN FELL
I forget the names of streets.
My memory has slowed in
time. I am just happy to be
able to think with this mind.
I am often in the clouds with
this mind thinking how long
will it be when it rains again.
I forget the exact date it did
rain. I know it was more than
a month or maybe two months
ago. I was looking at the sky
when the rain fell inside my
eyes. I do not know what street
I was at when the rain came down.
NAMING CLOUDS
I tried to name each cloud
I saw throughout the day.
I called one dark angel which
had a serpent’s tongue and
a devil’s tail. Every time
I looked up was to name
another cloud. Infierno
was the name I gave the
hell cloud with its heart
on the outside. Hell I named
it. Saintliness was far from
its design. Rimbaud I named
another cloud just because.
I SAY ENOUGH
I say enough
about the best and worst of times.
It is nature
and the cosmic voodoo of life
that keeps this itch
alive to let my anger, joy, and sadness
out. What about
love? I say a little about it some
days too. I say
enough of love when I am stuck
in reflections
of when I believed in such things.
My cloudy mind
is often lost in a shadow of doubt.
Born in Mexico, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Abramelin, Barbaric Yawp, Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Fixator Press, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, The Literary Underground, and Unlikely Stories.
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