Jose Oseguera


Jose Oseguera is an LA-based writer of poetry, short fiction and literary nonfiction. Having grown up in a diverse urban environment, Jose has always been interested in the people and places around him, and the stories that each of these has to share; those that often go untold. 

His work has been featured in Meat for Tea: The Valley Review, Rigorous, Sky Island Journal, Jelly Bucket, OTHER. Magazine, The Inquisitive Eater, Authorship by The National Writers Association among others.

Twitter handle: @strpsrchla

Instagram: @stripsearchla


Art is not created by artists
To be stolen, programmed, and constrained
In a museum, categorized, filed away by surname and style. 

It is a transient force that cannot be dissected by academics,
Sold in ticket-sized, 8-to-5 windows of freak-show carnival exhibits;
Its power segregated from its intent by lovers of art, haters of people. 

It is not a leashed dog that shows well under temperature-controlled,
Hospital-white, mood-lit, cathedral-capped petri dishes of dead cultures—
Beauty according to the de facto victor.                                                                                

Policed by factotum overdressed in over-sized, tacky business suits,
Shushing me for awing,
Censoring the audience’s captivation— 

Cans of paint thinner in their desire to inhabit the work—
Shunned for touching, shown the door for being curious.
Don't shoo me away for wanting to behold inspiration in its purest form: 

Condemned to witness the miracle before my eyes as prayer read off print,
Without emotion or any sense of devotion.
A narrative in which I’m not the protagonist or antagonist, but misread as part of
             the conflict; 

Unused and unaffected— unnamed third-person, second-class citizen, Public Enemy Number 1—
A nobody from whom to protect the virtue I came to see.
Are works not elevated to the status of art by those who ingest, digest, and egest
            them into
Transforming their unique existence, transcending it into realms 

Of sacred, denuding experience, transfigured into a pliable extract of
Art is a mirror that reflects the artist in its beholder's sigh,
Beckoning you to cross the invisible threshold cast by his commended spirit,  

A portal into eternity bound to your being.
Art is free, therefore
Free art.

© The Acentos Review 2018