Dirt rolls from his palm, Blades of grass Tumble from his hair.
I was the first Chicano to write in complete sentences.
I drank that sentence and began to glow.
You can always spot bright people. They are reading a book.
going back and forth, back and forth, getting nowhere
The black asphalt wouls shimmer with vapors I had a theory about those vapors...not released by the sun but by a huge onion buried under the city. This onion made us cry... I thought about the giant onion, that remarkable bulb of sadness.