I disagree with you about the nature of love and by extension about art or rather the role of form in art for while abstraction can delight the senses it is not sustainable or repeatable and what humans need is more like a glass of water not only upon waking but one at lunchtime and […]
The 1970’s were full of firsts for many people. Richard Nixon became the first president to resign from office. Raul Castro became the first Latino to hold the office of Governor in the great State of Arizona.
When the pastor spits
while sputtering any
variation of God’s name.
THE CORPSE AND ITS ADMIRERS
The coffin is grey with gold curlicues at the corners, at each of the four corners, although we only see two from where we are sitting with our mother.
SAME OAKS, SAME YEAR
My cousin kept me and his little brother saved me from our uncle’s pit bull, then spent seven years in prison for his set. Every other word he said was blood.
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Enter the ministry through the main gate (not the women’s entrance), on Olaya Street: Memorize the number on your ID card (#1072049285). Vote in the municipal elections, , so that the world may see you and celebrate the act…
The bell’s emptied space has no name. I would like to call it my never-born. I’m there and the metal clapper and bowl are asleep. My never-born is awake, very quiet. I don’t want to reach for him. I don’t want to fall from the rope’s fray or draw nothing from the naming. I call, […]
They park fifty feet from shore, Nichols and his daughter, despite her quiet protests.
“The river hasn’t changed,” he says, sipping Hamm’s, the last can of four he brought for the road. “It looks the god damn same.”
LETTER IN EXCHANGE FOR Painting all the spines of the books blue, for example. Tasting me so absolutely as to know the monsoon of my sickness. Licking my lips clean of disturbance while hunting for the trees I want at every window, that wanton green. What if, in reciprocation, you gave me every song you […]
DEATH OF A CHILD This is how a child dies: little by little. His breath curdles. His hands soften, apricots heavy on their branches. I can’t explain it. I can’t explain it. On the walk back to the car even the stones in the yards are burning. Far overhead in the dead orchard of […]
[No. 118] How snow and distance equal absence the page untouched the page a white blankness the way ink recedes from these cold vistas its absence a kind of reverence how the moon is also an absence untouched as if he knew it was beyond mere wood mere blade how burdened the humans are in […]