THE DREAMS I DO NOT CHOOSE. By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Though I seem to sleep soundly,

I am carrying my burdens inside.

I walk in mud. My name is mud

in the dreams I do not choose.

If I could be a stick in the mud,

at least I would not be mud. Grief

follows me into my dreams. It

forces me to swallow tears of mud.

I cannot sleep for too long. I am

looking to fill my days with rest I

cannot find in sleep. Perhaps I

could lay drunk on the seaside sand.

I could sit as a stone and look to

the heavens, bird watching, cloud

surfing, seeking enlightenment 

that cannot be found in dreams.

Luis was born in Mexico, lives in California, and works in the mental health 

field in Los Angeles, CA. His poems have appeared in Ariel Chart, Beatnik Cowboy,

Dope Fiend Daily, Unlikely Stories, and Zygote In My Coffee.