So many issues regarding elitism have arisen lately in my quasi-literary life that I’m impelled to write an essay. I don’t flatter myself that I have a "literary" life, hence the above qualification. Books have always been a refuge, even when I don’t read them. In my childhood I had a packed bookcase at the right side of my bed on top of my bureau. That bookcase was like the walls of Babylon. It prevented dragons from getting through to me.
Javier’s Song for Brooklyn
“I’ll come see you one day, promise.” Kiara tottered over to him. She gave him another hug, despite his evident discomfort.
She seemed to like him, in a maternal way. He liked her too. She was smart and funny. She had great taste in music.
Deep down, she must have known something wasn’t right in her relationship with Miles. In breaking them up, he was doing them both a kindness.
From Freddy to Toni
My need to write, to turn my pain into art, led me to appreciate great writing.
Foxes and Coyotes
Me, I was a squirrel. I was small. But I was agile.
Ritual of Tale-Telling; For Each Soul Umade; A New Sky Beams; Postmortem for a Finger Withered Out
There is no tale-teller, no bagpipe to thread these words in rhythms: sounds, seizures, thoughts that linger and bloat a mind.
Balancing; Another Heatwave; Stake Out; In the Glitter Pattern
You say you want to know, that a god should put all their stuff behind those eyes, all your heaven, a whole sun —plasmatic and self-consuming— attached in one weird head.