Ricardo Pau-Llosa

“Cultivo una rosa blanca. . . .”José MartíThe seed’s the show all the petal seats are arranged for. Between bulbous heads we angle for a view, and these suede white honey scabs between fingertips used to cash must have taught our ancients to [...]

You have begun to wonder, a glass world rolling in gentle shadows beneath you, if all your genuflecting did not turn God into a masochist. At times, that is the only way the mighty can feel power, whip in hand, the red back of the world streaked [...]

for Judith Berke The man and the woman, knees in gravel, beneath the faceless rim of tattered straw, break their rhythm of splitting and digging when they find what a thoughtless eye might call another pebble. Glass third century, the woman says, tur [...]

"Tú la dejaste ir" "Tropical path, you let her leave." It's just the same. The season was rotten. Even if you couldn't tell in this all the time summer place, I could. She marked the time of year by fits of weeping. Then fits of laughter. Then anger [...]

Between Lorca and the cubists, I figured the guitar was finished. Now he has thrown it in my face like a drowning girl and I, who can't swim, must sort through memories of Tarzan sliding past crocodiles, and drop myself like a legume into hero stew t [...]