Hustle

"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--a