I prefer a pencil formed from cedar timber, painted, lacquered, imprinted with gold— Half the Pressure, Twice the Speed— a medium that will readily
She watches her clothes fall down chutes, the cotton swoop, the dull release of wool she wore and how it drops so far below
You say el otro día, and it could be any time, An afternoon of sunlight on red bougainvillea Or a time when the canals
Ashes from his body under my tongue, soft as an uncoated pill, life reduces to soft gray. Tiny bone fragments rough up my mouth,