"Potential: 02:06:2018," "Reassign Words," and "Drown"

Potential: 02:06:2018

You bring the jar of flies
dipped in honey,
the wings cut off
and heads eyeless.

You bury it in the yard,
a time capsule
of your misdeeds
and potential.

One day you will seek your
fifteen or so
minutes of fame
or infamy.

If it is too late, I
pray for the world
you don’t reach your
full potential.



Reassign Words

The clocks are flowers
and fire is a balloon.
The morning is evening
and cows are kittens.

I reassign words.
I rename the things I see.

I shuffle the deck
and the world lays flat.
The bluer the sky the darker
astronomy becomes.

The thin branch is a wand
that stretches the mouth.
It makes the stiff corpse 
dance and colors the stars.

Without imagination 
the basilica is a shed.
The mad man rules and
the telephone is a poison pill.

The dog’s bite is a kiss
and the dog is a swan.
I climb and I go under
to the astral symmetry.

Memory fades and fruit
is a yo-yo and my flesh is

a seed that refuses to grow.




I try to find my center.
I am in orbit, out of
sorts, in a cloudless sky with
no parachute. On fire, sun

scorched and dealt a scolding for
being in and out of love.
I am all out of it. I
hear your voice inside my head.
I want the sea to catch me.
I want the sea to cleanse me
of all these desires, to
drown me and to revive me.



Born in Mexico, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal resides in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Nerve Cowboy, and Yellow Mama Webzine. Luis recommends St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.


Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Monday, July 2, 2018 - 11:47