Sevilla #5: Manuel Escribano, #3: #84, LIMEÑO Came the lightning.
This bull, he bellow his death. This final bull, he take the thunder over his knee. This bull he tell Continue reading
This bull, he bellow his death. This final bull, he take the thunder over his knee. This bull he tell Continue reading
For this bull: 1. Death, he take his time. 2. Death, he file his nails. 3. Death, he take a Continue reading
I come for you hombrelitos. I call for you by name. I bring to you your shame. I steal from Continue reading
What troubles the mules is not the presence, the loiter, the stink, of death, rather the intrusion upon one’s dying.
The elephant he come for the bull the nods of heads, the “ Okay, my friend … “ the trunk Continue reading
The bull he walk off, like the elephant for his own words, with his own death. The quick understanding the Continue reading
My mouth is a Moorish gate of rhinestones and piercings and spikes.
Our stones shear, like our religions, whose fall so near. There’s the catch, the shiver, the beg for a river. Continue reading