Poems by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal

A LIGHT SO INTOXICATING

The street lamp hung on its
every word, foul-mouth moth,
playing around the light bulb.
The moth spat out stories from
its night before. It would not stop
and continued to make the street
lamp blush. The moth was drunk
with warm light. It asked the
street lamp to go steady. It told
the street lamp it never felt a
light so intoxicating. It moved
in back and forth, mouthing foul
words, until it was out of breath.
It pressed against the light bulb,
a burning hunk of moth.


FALL AT MY OWN RISK

I fall
at my own
risk, gave up
on wings

featherless
without
bitterness

blue always

but
still
there