By Alex Z. Salinas
Food for thought: if you disappear Harry Houdini, you earn Loki’s adoration for eternity. If you reinvent the wheel of passion, you twist romance poems into horror memoirs. If you cast the laws of brotherhood into fires of deconstruction, you marinate your conscience in ponds of resurrection. If you read every book in the world but don’t publish one, you are the Eyes of Big Brother, a creaking shelf in the Library of Babel. If you’re a poet without a pen or phone, scratch your verse into your palms. Larry Rios has four boxes of bandages stored in his medicine cabinet.