Speaking from the Heart
The last thing she remembered was Abuela’s panic. It rang through her as Abuela’s soft hand pressed against her forehead.
Speaking from the Heart
La ultima cosa que se acordaba era el pánico de su Abuela. Resonó por dentro la memoria del toque en su frente de la mano suave de su abuela.
Bicicleta
Jagged machines whose ancient forms I can’t imagine claw at the blue expanse above us. A graveyard of metal monsters.
Bicicleta
Pedazos de máquinas serradas y quienes formas no reconozco arañan el amplio azul. Un cementerio de monstruos metales, cubiertos en dientes.
The Job
The steel was cold in Marc’s hands as he climbed the side of the house, bones groaning with the beams as they took his weight.
Blue Dick Ballhawk Baumbach Blocks Turlock Morlocks
I am starting this article—as is too-frequently the case—with a formal protest of the Daily Spectacle’s editorial policies.
