These my two hands / quick to slap my face / before others could slap it.
But I'm more scared of not writing.
The U.S.-Mexican border es un herida abierta where the Third World grates against the first and bleeds. And before a scab forms it hemorrhages again, the lifeblood of two worlds merging to form a third country - a border culture.
To survive the Borderlands you must live sin fronteras be a crossroads.
I am mad - but I choose this madness.
I am visible-see this Indian face-yet I am invisible. I both blind them with my beak nose and am their blind spot. But I exist, we exist. They'd like to think I have melted in the pot. But I haven't. We haven't.