Product Review

These poems come from the steam of tortillas on the comal, from the banks of arroyos, from the sweat simmering from the skin. These are not healing songs, these are not prayers, these are photos kept hidden, wrapped in musty paños, stuffed to the back of the drawer, some musty box, some vato’s back pocket. These poems are of stink, of blood, of moon, of llanos and back roads; they give way to shivering.