Cañon City was not a city. It was a small, gossiping, high-security town in Colorado’s high desert, bordered to the west by the Sawatch Range. A home rule municipality boasting thirteen prisons and fifty churches, its ten thousand people—one fifth of them locked up—governed themselves as they saw fit and thrived on the stories, true…
after Bobby Chacon if you see it down the side of my face leave me alone if you see it in my eyes come take a look it’s difficult to rub blood out of your eye & block left hooks at the same time
—after Bobby Chacon only criminals fight for money are committed to this thing to get money to get enough to serve seven years & I’ve paid & I didn’t have the money the kids for my crimes if I didn’t have to serve to get money my family I’d…
after Bobby Chacon that’s all it was just fighting out of my head doing whatever it took to reach him there was no real plan it was whatever it took fighting him was it all fighting no head just to reach that’s all no head just doing my plan…
after Bobby Chacon it’s with you all the time like a wife it will know if you don’t treat it right but if you treat it right it can be good like a wife it’s with you all the time you treat her right you know if you don’t treat her right a…
The self I am today. Involves me. As a lake. Involves. Its cattails. It bears me. Tolerates. My cotton. I would prefer. Not. To be outlived. By anyone. I reserve the right. To refuse. Enchantment. The fables I tell. Always end. Wrong. The good archer. Dead. By a stream. By a…
Here is one: Try to be more than merely good Here is another: تلاش ناکافی است Of the others, I know mostly cuisine—soufflé, berbere, tamale. □ It’s delicious, being so governed by the primacy of my tongue. □ Snips and snails. □ There was an…
language is a moving belt words slide along and you grab what you need sometimes you miss please and settle for now sometimes you need both fog and steam every you can be plural the language affords us this it’s easy to mistake intensity for intimacy once I read a story that was all silence…
puñal, adj. desus. I hang at the back of the school ground, my fingers Hooked to the chain-link facing the street, tips white With my body’s weight. The oak tree behind me bends Down farther each day I visit to smear My mind on its bark. Armando walks By the basketball field, spots…
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