Saturday, June 17, 2023

Toss Your Colors on the Page

—Poetry, Photos and Artwork by 
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, 
West Covina, CA

Weep your sadness away.
Dream away the dead flowers.
Take a shot of forgetfulness
until the harsh day is over
and done. Blessed spirits
will heal your martyr self.
The intoxicated feeling will pass.
Even regret will fade away
with the leaves of disappointment.
Pick your poison. Drink or sleep.
Give your eyes the rest they need.
Take a long walk on the street
under the cool of the evening.
Let clarity fill your thoughts.
Let the spoiled child in you out.
Always be selfish when no one
comes to your rescue. Save yourself.


I fall asleep
when I get up.
It must mean I
don’t sleep much.

I fall asleep
when you talk. It
must be something
wrong with me.

I do not know
if I dream. I
can’t remember

I fall asleep
on my feet and
sometimes behind
the wheel. Watch

out I’m changing
lanes. I drink
strong black coffee
to perk up.

I need to take
a day off to
sleep for hours, to
sleep all day.


Earnestly, I wait for afternoon rain

with my eyes fixed on pregnant

clouds and grey skies. I see myself

drowning and washing up in

distant shores. I imagine myself

carried away by the waves and

deposited to far-off lands, far away

from those who never loved me.

The afternoon rain could do me a

favor. Into the sea, I would go,

deep underneath where the stars

could not reach me with their glitter.

I could live in the shadows. I wait

for the afternoon rain to pour over me.


It’s a simple task.
Open up a book.

Your glass is a flask.
It’s a simple ask.

Read and think.
Take a drink.

The mountain is pink.
The poem is dark.
The letter’s blood is ink.

Open up a book.
I do not want to talk.



Get yourself a notebook.
Be prepared to kill a lot of trees.
Find another name for sand or snow.
Put your name behind your work.

Read more than you write.
Fill all the blank pages.
Let your blood flow throughout.
Put your name behind your work.

On any time of the day, write.
Words will be your weapons.
Don’t expect a ring or crown.
Put your name behind your work.

There is a desert in a cloud.
Nests of birds fall from your hair.
Find inspiration in your childhood.
Put your name behind your work.

Night’s insomnia will give you time.
Don’t expect bread or fame.
Seasons will pass you by.
Put your name behind your work.


Make your verse
like the lost city
and the perfect prison.

Take from life
and moving pictures
and develop your words.

Toss your colors
on the page, then prick
your skin and bleed out.

a verse always in
motion and searching.

Open your
heart and the muscle
into a clenched fist.


Today’s LittleNip:

—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Something always goes wrong
like snow wiping out the road,
sky falling into the ground,
Ripple instead of Chardonnay left
to drink. Offer me a second
chance and I will consider it.


—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozábal today for his fine poetry and visuals!
 —Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
in the links at the top of this page.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
 “Fill all the blank pages.”