Miniscule
My younger self
dresses himself
in smaller clothes,
disappearing
eventually until
he is miniscule
like a grain of salt.
In disillusion I
lie to myself
because I am
much too human.
I dive into dark
thoughts. I kill
myself in these
dark thoughts. I
wander off to
a carnival where
madmen think
away strange
and unimaginable
things, like becoming
small as a grain
of salt, disappearing,
almost invisible.

All and Nothing
Do not doubt the certainty
of love and rejection.

It is unheard of to find
purity or perfection.

I am protected by nothing
short of hope and dumb luck.

I do not ask darkness how
deep it intends to go.

I rely on faith that one day
everything will be alright

if just for that day. Who knows
why that is so, not me?

I have given my all and
I have given nothing as well.

If I had the power to
make dreams come true, I

know somewhere I would fail.
I imagine no one deserves

such power, like a god
that is wrathful and kind,

that sends death to see us
through a life borrowed.

The Place I’m In
Happy for
the beautiful offerings,
fish on my plate,
a home to retreat to,
blindness thwarted,
my healing wrist,
the little things in life,
ripples in the sea.
Happy for
the paused anxiety,
such a beautiful thing,
to old poets dead
and living, for young poets
just beginning
to sing. Happy for
the place I am in,
open to possibilities.
The fish on my plate,
its slit body,
no longer living.

***

You can learn more about Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabalby clicking on to his bio: https://thievingmagpie.org/luis-cuauhtemoc-berriozabal-bio/