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3/ I came to speak — you      to listen. But it’s      the silence we share.

It was gray. There was no gruel for hours, years. All around me drone of a dead world. Dry cold rocks in my bed, rocks of hours, years. The skin sank to the skeleton and stuck, dry. Then the stream of celery soaked my face clean. A lump of potato lit on the back of…

– the framing of mortal confusion in Rudolfo A. Anaya's Bless Me, Ultima – Bless Me, Ultima, a first novel by Rudolfo A. Anaya, winner of the Second Annual Premio Quinte Sol in 1971 and now in its fifth printing, is touted in its jacket blurbs as being already a "classic in Chicano Literature." For…

They seem to be what they are harvesting: Rumps, elbows, hips clustering Plumply in the sun, a fuss of shines Wining from the ovals of their elbows. The brush plucks them from a tied vine. Such roundness, such a sound vintage Of circles, such a work of pure spheres! Flesh and shadow mesh inside each…

Morning so bright, Fed and forgotten, The house full of flowers: Sorb apple and dog-rose. By instinct realize and call it The next best thing. It’s locked in the mind. It would be a wonderful thing to do. In your harp concerto We would find a world very much like our own, Where graves are…

for Bartolomeu Dos Santos Prisons are labyrinths. You can get out of anywhere at right angles, even a balloon, even a Klein bottle. A prison is a labyrinth you haven’t cracked. Then you come to the gates. There are said to be seven. The final gate has only a far side Luminous under the heavy…

Basho stood on this same bridge and watched these same swans a male and a female grooming in the slow olive water dragoning and phoenixing and wallowing like dogs in dust they don’t once look at each other opening ripples cling & cross

(2) Rip Van Winkle nodding asleep sitting up. My head falls to my chest an empty. My head in the hands of sleep like having my life stop and begin again when it’s all been said and done.

(3) How dull How lifeless How unlike himself he’s become or he’s apeshit, really what’s all this about going to cut his finger off for something it did last night? Will I be drunk as he wants me to be on Friday?