Poetry
Summer 1960
Horns Come to the Matador
Corrida. José Letran tripped.His wife was gored (at home in bed). That’s what frightened the bull to death—not swords—the horns on Letran’s head.
Poetry
Spring 1968
Fat-Fat Woman Finds Her Yolk
She’s a black Alchemist Seated On the bench At a bus stop Transforming Tobacco leaves Into puffs Of cotton. With a wave Of her transfer She changes The bus Into […]