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A HOUSE WAITING FOR MUSIC “David Hernandez sings about the self and his community and transforms the magic of language into unforgettable poems. His poetic journeys seek a knowledge as they drive for revelation in the modern world. While reading these poems, I was reminded of the lessons learned from the great Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda—to know the self is to know poetry.” —Ray Gonzalez “A House Waiting for Music is a remarkable collection of poems. David Hernandez is like a hip, urban William Stafford—his quiet, subtle poems force us to see what we often miss, lost in the rush of our lives. He has a deft touch for finding the striking juxtaposition, the odd fragment of grace. Hernandez embraces the world, even when it seems irredeemable and without mercy, and he celebrates the small daily miracles of survival. The music of these warm, intimate poems resonates, and lingers.” —Jim Daniels “David Hernandez's subjects are varied—from lust to TV to the cruelty of children to the grass under his feet—but running through all his work is a sense of the quotidian disasters we survive in order to see our lives and the lives of those around us. In his poems "the world is visible again, / stumbling forward and beautiful." A deft, sly, and heartful book, A House Waiting for Music contains enough verbal hip-hop to get the cops called. Listen up!” —Kim Addonizio
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Laurel and Hardy Backwards There was a bedsheet thumbtacked stopped inside a tunnel. In our homemade of stairs. They heaved. They heaved It’s not funny anymore. We waited radiant with light. Our mother stood had seen our lives before—five, six times for tomorrow. My brother flipped the reel, and settle on Hardy’s head, slammed doors and wrestle the piano back down the stairs,
Wile E. Coyote Attains Nirvana
No wonder after each plummet
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