I have 62 stories published in
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I can’t stand when People say Mature love Is beyond jealousy And full of trust-- They haven’t loved. I want you To yearn for my Every thought And howl at My silent poems.
My grandmother is Preparing the Nopales In the kitchen-- It is dawn. As she cuts Away at the Flesh of The ancient Plant, Stripping it Of its thorns, I see Our future, Raza:
I thought of Jack Kerouac Today as I entered The public library Eyes down Rolling Rolling Along the tiled floors Pen warm Tucked between My ear and skull
Along the brazen border That separates Tijuana and San Diego, Indigenous children Sell packets of gum On the side Of the freeway For nickels and dimes;