If I believed in genius, then I’d say Yes I am one But I don’t believe, believe in it Nor intelligence Or all that Why? Because it is fostered Determined It is not born  It is not a magical …

When I was a boy, he says, the sky began burning, & someone ran knocking on our door one night. The house became birds in the eaves too low for a boy’s ears. I heard a girl talking, but they …

Little propeller working between the two fields of my a’s, making my name a small boat that leaves the port of old San Juan or Ponce, with my grandfather, Miguel, on a boat, or in an airplane, with …

A gun is an instrument of articulation:  Glory be  the backyard travesty, orange grass and ochre leaves . My gun is not my gun, but it is a kind of being:  my word, one may care to carry it . The …