Not Enough
Luis Rivas

there is a plant
in the back of our rented house
and when a car approaches
with its headlights on
it illuminates its leaves
with a bright and warm yellow
light, consuming it like the licking
flames of a glorious fire

i watch a tv show about
an anthropologist
investigating murders

i watch our cat sleeping
with all its legs tucked underneath
eyes shut like a meditative
monk blocking out constant pain

i read lenin’s what is to be done
i try to learn russian
iskra means spark
suka means bitch
adin-natsat means 11, i think

my dreams are infomercials
my nightmares: that the milk
will expire before I have time
to finish it

it is not enough
to capture something in its moment

Luis Rivas lives in Echo Park, California, and manages an adult club in the San Fernando Valley. He is seeking a publisher for his poetry chapbook, Random Acts of Terror. He considers himself politically aware and active, and owes the IRS $1,600 in taxes.