I was the first Chicano to write in complete sentences.

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.

Dirt rolls from his palm, Blades of grass Tumble from his hair.

going back and forth, back and forth, getting nowhere

I drank that sentence and began to glow.

It appears these days I don't have much of a life because my nose is often stuck in a book. But I discovered that reading builds a life inside the mind.

Because nothing should be wasted In a world where sparrows work hard To prove there is enough.