• Figueroa Street

    Figueroa Street

    by Jose Oseguera Its long, serpentine body always filthy in a compost of candy wrappers, flattened chip bags, and stained soda bottle shards— divine translucence of a Parisian rose window; their glass rattles beside me like excited children, hopping over syringes, charred stainless steel spoons, ripped surgical gloves, and dried streams of urine— the pigeons…