Gold Medal
What do you think on that podium you’ve worked all your life to mount...
My Father’s Razor; Gold Medal, ; The Warehouse; The Day the Music Died; The Apartment
How I Write
First thing, I wake up. At 76 not being dead is essential. After breakfast I read poetry, novels, essays, everything. They’re all a part of my writing process.
Crash Course
Seconds tick by. Downtown LA this time of morning is almost but not quite still. Beginning to wake up. I’m aware of my breath, the rustles, mumbling, cursing going on down the sidewalk. The stink of things I can’t identify. “You ever come to get soup?”
Boricuamericano; A stop on the hunt for alcapurrias; I love The Smoke and my people; Every car model is the same if you get to the bones of it
When I am on coffee number four. I have my father’s mouth whistle through brown slits. I liked his smile most when he was around mamí, his sisters.
How I Write
At a point in my early poetic development, I stumbled across the legendary work of Karen Finley’s "Shock Treatment"' When I tell you I tore through that book, know it’s not an understatement. Finley perfectly captured my angst and aggression, helping me move my aggression from petty, teenage heartbreak to using my grief and anger as catalysts to shift real-world thinking on race and sexuality.
This Isn’t the End; I Think I’m Getting Stronger When I’m Weak Enough; The Dying Day Doesn’t Belong to Me; When I Reach for Something I’m Not Holding On to Anything; Sacrifice
The Dying Day Doesn’t Belong to Me