Dallas Spleen
The spectacular fashion of the cloud-cover, & at times the profound lack of it, the way the horizon never lacks the sky. Dusk scrawling itself across the flat horizon for long, ecstatic stretches sets the table for encountering the enigma of a moment. A chair left empty for a visitor made of time, place, & light.
I came across a door left open, at just the right angle for an invitation to be laid bare. Except this worked in reverse. I was the one left open. The door was my body. The light left on is inside me.
Beyond The Shadow’s Ink
“There is a deep, inescapable sadness in many of Mike Soto’s poems but it is a sadness for the world and never himself. It’s wrong to stereotype poets, even positively, but I think Soto’s Mexican literary heritage is deep in his bone marrow. It’s a rich, earthly, mystical tradition in which to have one’s taproots. These poems of light and life are compressed, but never crushed.” – Thomas Lux
Published by Jeanne Duval Editions in 2010