<div><p>"David Martinez is like an algebra problem invented by America—he's polynomial, and fractioned, full of identity variables and unsolved narrative coefficients. . . . <i>Hustle</i> is full of dashing nerve, linguistic flair, and unfakeable heart."—Tony Hoagland</P><i><p>The dark peoples with things:</P><p>for keys, coins, pencils<br>and pens our pockets grieve.</P><p>No street lights or signs,<br>no liquor stores or bars,<br>only a lighter for a flashlight,</P><p>and the same-faced trees,<br>similar-armed stones<br>and crooked bushes<br>staring back at me.</P><p>There is no path in the woods for a boy from the city.</P><p>I would have set fire to get off this wilderness<br>but Palomar is no El Camino in an empty lot,</P><p>the plastic dripping from the dash<br>and the paint bubbling like a toad's throat.</P><p>If mountains were old pieces of furniture,<br>I would have lit the fabric and danced.</P><p>If mountains were abandoned crack houses,<br>I would have opened their meanings with flame,</P><p>if that would have let the wind and trees lead my eyes<br>or shown me the moon's tiptoe on the moss—</P><p>as you effect my hand,<br>as we walk into the side of a Sunday night.</p></i><p><b>David Tomas Martinez</b> has published in <i>San Diego Writer's Ink</i>, <i>Charlotte Journal</i>, <i>Poetry International</i>, and has been featured in <i>Border Voices</i>. A PhD candidate at the University of Houston, Martinez is also an editor for <i>Gulf Coast</i>.<br></DIV>