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Monday, 18 June 2012

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal-

The Face Eaters
I arrive at the secret destination.
The face eaters question me.
They are cold and direct with their
queries.   They make me cry
when they grit their gold teeth.
The face eaters are always hungry.
The eat the faces of men, women,
and children.   I don’t want my face
eaten.  I like it the way it is.  I don’t
think altering my face would be a
good thing.  The face eaters sharpen
their teeth.  I feel fatigue setting in.
I start having a hallucination.
My eyes look like fruit, like candy,
and the face eaters want to eat
out my eyes.  They want to eat
the soft tissue of my eyelids.  I try
to reason with the face eaters.
I can’t find happiness.  There is too
much temptation for them.  They
want both of my eyes and ears.
They would love to eat my brain.
No Shoulders

I met a woman who had no shoulders.
Her shirt sleeves would hang limply.
She would stand awkwardly with her
head and neck bowing to the center
of her body.   Her voice was soft and
delicate.  She walked barefoot most
days.  The bottom of her feet were
dirty and rough.   She wanted to lift
her neck, but it would bow down
along with her head.  Saliva would
drip unswallowed.  She wanted to
sprout wings and fly to the sun.   She
could not find peace of mind.  She
wanted to sink to the bottom of
the sea to a non-existing lost city.
Her lips were moist with spit.  She
tried singing herself to sleep, but
she could not stand the sound of
her voice.  The words would come
out all crazy.  Her lips quivering
in search of the perfect song.

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