Graffitti posters on wall; somewhere in Oakland ( photo: arnoldo colibrí) No one hardly praises our children till they’re shot down on the streets Desi’s mural did not ward off the bullets or the liquor stores that blew holes in the soft bodies of teenagers and the livers of hopelessness Hip hop has one more one less octosyllabic story to rhyme Now not even a street corner altar No candles No balloons No empty bottles of Hennessy no photographs no vigils Just the ghosts and their unarmed...

Sketch for the painting "Guitarrista in SCC" (8.5"x14" charcoal on paper; 1994) by arnoldo garcía el colibrí After Atahualpa Yupanqui The guitar, before it was a guitar, was a tree. And before the tree could become a guitar, the tree absorbed and meditated and learned and listened and allowed all the birds of the world and the forest to land on her branches. The tree learned all the songs and melodies sung by birds whether the day was cold, warm, sun-filled, blistering cold of the gloomiest...

Desfile mexicano en el Fruitvale de Oakland ( photo: arnoldo colibrí; 2006) I was born where I did not choose to have wars and warlords...