Poetry by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
LOOSE LEAVES Trifling through loose leaves. Searching for the young me, same as the old me. Did I write anything of value then? Do I write anything of value now? We all have our detractors. It is best to let all criticism slide across your back. Pay no mind and forge forward like rockets in the sky. All you need to do is lay your heart bare. Whether pure of thought or dirty ramblings, write it all down as best you can. Scrap it and throw it away if you can make it better. Loose leaves fill entire cemeteries, where words go away to die. Sometimes you can pick one out of the many that are worthy to be kept alive or resurrected. OUT OF BED I drag myself out of bed into the city where the cold wind blows. I go where the skies appear like mirrors, pale and pure, in the October twilight. In the melancholy streets my restless feet wander. I walk with trepidation. I feel myself pulling away.
Born in Mexico, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles, CA.His poetry has been published by Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Escape Into Life, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, SETU, and Unlikely Stories.
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