Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
April 27, 2026

Bury Myself

"...Who creates such woe? ..."

Bury Myself

I would bury myself
if I had the strength
to do so. Who will
give me a hand?

Bury me somewhere
by the shaded park.
Breathless, I am
running on empty.
Air is hard to come
by. There’s no mercy.
Estranged from love
I am a wilted flower.

Earth is my grave,
dark and unkempt.
Who creates such
woe? Am I alive?
I buried one leg.
I buried it shallow.







Article © Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal. All rights reserved.
Published in the November 4, 2024 issue .
Image(s) are public domain.
More by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal → More poetry → Full issue →
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