From Yin to fullness, a guffaw at the pit
of desolation, except you ride, you don’t fall.
Below as above.
Spin as you stand.
The horse, well, it is an intermediary—
a form you can speak of, a vernacular of ancestral hues.
The trees sing with many circled mouths,
each mouth an echo inside the blood-sap flesh.
The arms as galactic instructions,
the branches, the tenfold directions.
each seed—you tumble, you explode
the only feeling is non-feeling.
Call it joy, call it she-hair,
this negative of all negatives.
The gorgeous black and white line art inside this hefty little book [, Loteria Cards and Fortune Poems ] instantly caught my eye. These linocut drawings were not the regular loteria images. They were modern adaptations, made with painstaking detail (think of a turn-of-the-millenium, wired Posada) and showing a distinctive sense of humor and pathos. The poetry, commissioned especially for the drawings, also showed a fresh and modern take on the icons of Mexicanismo and Chicanismo.”-Frontera Magazine