Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Blocking the Scum of the Earth
I spend a good few minutes
of each hour deleting spam
calls, texts, and emails.
I spend a lot of time blocking
the scum of the earth trying
to take what I don’t have.
If it is a penny I have, they want
to have it. They want my name,
all my identifiers. They want it
all. They want my house, my
bank account. They want too
see me in debt, working away
to pay for things I no longer
use. For things that are as
useless as time already gone.
I need to drop out, tune out,
head to the hills where there
is no reception, where wolves,
bears, and coyotes will take
any flesh I have, where vultures
will clean up whatever’s left.
Through Silence
Through silence,
a head planted
firmly in the sand,
depravity,
inhumanity,
and cruelty thrives.
Through silence
starvation
becomes
a bargaining chip,
a tool to gain
concessions,
and steal land.
Through silence,
a head tucked
inside back holes,
the world will burn,
turn to ash,
and cease to thrive.
Through silence,
everyone loses.
Born in Mexico, Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Chiron Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, and Unlikely Stories. He is the author of Raw Materials (Pygmy Forest Press), Peering Into the Sun (Poet’s Democracy), and Make the Water Laugh (Rogue Wolf Press).
Banner Art:
from Sunflowers, Vincent Van Gogh, 1887
