Sunday 5 May 2019

2 Poems by Pablo Cuzco


We are a generation consumed by quarter tones,
the rhythm of coffee cups and saucers, spoons and trays.
In parlors where they speak of the dead,
we lament the passing of a cycle,
a spirit's journey to pay tribute to Charon.
"You May Pass," he waves them on---to the abyss.

Flames rise on hearths.
Embers glow, leave residue on mantels.
::music from ancestral accordions dispatch breath,
send blackbirds to form clouds | time beats the drum,
bass strings slap a slow departure.


Over the din of emotion,
radio waves echo the sound of Cristal moments.
::ribbon cutting ceremonies,
a bobble-head's broken spring.

Chocolate liquor and heart-shaped confections,
fortune cookie wisdom written in red ink.
In confusion over privilege
::billionaires cast their ballots
on Wall Street---desperate for cash.


Pablo Cuzco is an American writer of poetry and short stories. He spent his early years in France and Germany with his family. In his teens, he traveled across America with guitar in hand, writing songs and jotting memories along the way. Now, living in the Southwest with his wife, he has time to reflect and share those stories. His works can be found at Underfoot Poetry, The Big Windows Review and soon at others.


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