Leo Briones Poems

When all the women
on their way to Africa
to give oatmeal
cookies
...

I walk Divesadero
between Lombard and Broadway—
it’s steep and straight
and takes some time to navigate.
...

As the crumble of quartz rises to summits,
and the silver sword of certainty
is melted in the alchemist stew,
the whirlwind will swallow our Babel.
...

If there is such a thing as Glasnost
for fingers pecking a column left headline

or Perestroika for the beet farmer
...

The passion of nothingness,
the mad convulsion of the first kiss,
the fleece touch of making love,
the chaos of peace,
...

from my window

the shadows of the melaleuca tree,
the smolder of dusk,
...

Is it not enough
to have walked so far,
shrinking, hollow, stumbling
to the edge.
...

From the place that I now stand, I can only say,
that I have turned my soul’s muse away
from the devices of modern poetry.
For stories told that bring neither meaning
...

She was
a little woman,
not really built for this;
and the secret is she
...

You chose me—
the poet of the world
to sing like a glass of fire.
And every time we lay down,
...