Today’s choice

Previous poems

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

by | Oct 21, 2025 | ,

 

 

 

Art Exhibit

I hear the roar of
the ocean. I hear
a series of shrieks
and long screams.
An eventual lull
comes. My ears
are an abstraction.
I don’t know what
to tell you. Last
night a spider made
its way inside my
ear. It crawled out
with fragments of
wax. I hear the
possibilities of the
thought of a spider,
of a stranger, but
I am unsure of it.
My ear is a triangle.
I hear coughing sounds.
I hear myself laugh,
the grinding of teeth,
the tracing of circles.
My ear is a square.
These are my dreams.
I’m an art exhibit
with wounds I unstitch.
Soon my time will come.
Quick, turn off the lights.

 

 

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal was born in Mexico, lives in California, and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Fixator Press, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, Lothlorien Poetry Review, and Oddball Magazine. His latest poetry book, Make the Water Laugh, was published by Rogue Wolf Press.

Iris Anne Lewis

by | Oct 11, 2020 | ,

      That Night   Why did the swans hiss that night? He comes from the river, he comes from the lake Why did the wind howl that night? He heaves it down, he hauls it in Why did the moon glow red that night? He seeks her out, he hunts her down Why did...

Amy Rafferty

by | Oct 10, 2020 | ,

      Here Come the Crows I drew a sudden dark line under it all. Emphatically, and with the fulsome flourish of a full stop dot. Knowing that this was not what I wanted: the rows of chimney pots, red-rouged and boring in the dreich, mossed and...

Angela Readman

by | Oct 9, 2020 | ,

      The Survivalist’s Guide to Love The personals sounded survivalist, after. We were still searching, but we offered love like an island someone may wind up stranded on. I have fish fingers, but no bread…There are eggs in my fridge I’ve painted with...