Hustle by David Tomas Martinez, Paperback | Indigo Chapters

David Martinez is like an algebra problem invented by America-he's polynomial, and fractioned, full of identity variables and unsolved narrative coefficients. . . .Hustle is full of dashing nerve, linguistic flair, and unfakeable heart."-Tony HoaglandThe dark peoples with things:for keys, coins, pencilsand pens our pockets grieve. No street lights or signs, no liquor stores or bars, only a lighter for a flashlight, and the same-faced trees, similar-armed stonesand crooked bushesstaring back at me. There is no path in the woods for a boy from the city. I would have set fire to get off this wildernessbut Palomar is no El Camino in an empty lot, the plastic dripping from the dashand the paint bubbling like a toad's throat. If mountains were old pieces of furniture, I would have lit the fabric and danced. If mountains were abandoned crack houses, I would have opened their meanings with flame, if that would have let the wind and trees lead my eyesor shown me the moon's tiptoe on the moss-as you effect my hand, as we walk into the side of a Sunday night. David Tomas Martinez has published inSan Diego Writer's Ink, Charlotte Journal, Poetry International, and has been featured inBorder Voices. A PhD candidate at the University of Houston, Martinez is also an editor forGulf Coast. "David Martinez is like an algebra problem invented by America-he's polynomial, and fractioned, full of identity variables and unsolved narrative coefficients. . . .Hustle is full of dashing nerve, linguistic flair, and unfakeable heart."-Tony HoaglandThe dark peoples with things:for keys, coins, pencilsand pens our pockets grieve. No street lights or signs, no liquor stores or bars, only a lighter for a flashlight, and the same-faced trees, similar-armed stonesand crooked bushesstaring back at me. There is no path in the woods for a boy from the city. I would have set fire to get off this wildernessbut Palomar is no El Camino in an empty lot, the plastic dripping from the dashand the paint bubbling like a toad's throat. If mountains were old pieces of furniture, I would have lit the fabric and danced. If mountains were abandoned crack houses, I would have opened their meanings with flame, if that would have let the wind and trees lead my eyesor shown me the moon's tiptoe on the moss-as you effect my hand, as we walk into the side of a Sunday night. David Tomas Martinez has published inSan Diego Writer's Ink, Charlotte Journal, Poetry International, and has been featured inBorder Voices. A PhD candidate at the University of Houston, Martinez is also an editor forGulf Coast. " | Hustle by David Tomas Martinez, Paperback | Indigo Chapters