Friday, September 23, 2016

Motel Borinquen

Motel Borinquen

A condom falls on night’s shadows.
Desire lubricates my insides.
I’m sedated by your bang hole,
the jazz, the cannabis, the nether elite
to which I aspire.

Come to my dildo
manufactured on the streets
of Borinquen.

This word archeology
discovers the bone, the psychic earthquake
of reason’s instability and all
its caveman connections.

The sun falls on the city’s mist,
its eye penetrates the hustler’s wallet
and the hidden book of Babylon.

Insolent amazement dries
drunks’ rheum. A beautiful river
descends from a stone and travels
to the caveman’s ancient foreskin.
It is the transfiguration
of androgynous men into angels
carrying the metaphysics
of their pockets in their language.

The luxury of their burials
conveys the stigma of a leprechaun.
Because they made money
the final solution…the microcosm
of their soul is dead.

They’re threatened
by the burnished skeleton of a lover
and a joke made with a vulture’s gaze.

It’s not always like this.
But the city’s bourgeois need him
so he rushes to the blue chalet
by the sea, Motel Borinquen!

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Morning - For my friend Gaby


Today I woke with purple eye.
The bed sheet covered with bitterness,
the horizon dyed your gaze with resentment.
It was my prison, my sticky algae refuge,
the silence of dead birds.

God I love you Gaby! Your hands
strange tentacles of islands.
Oysters open their eaten shells
rock jellyfish and sirens
have indigo lips.
So much oblivion, so much baseness!

A wounded wolf with hemlock penis
howled in your brain.
It hit the staghorn corals.
So much water lily perfume
in the swamp inside you.

The morning was intoxicating liquor,
menstrual delirium. Your sex
on top of my tumbling soul
defeated. The froth of your mouth,
the epilepsy of sound scream:
God how I love you!

You were the vampire
of my night carriage, the dice
rolled in red brothels, the subtle
emanation of nipples.

Next morning
your teeth bit my forbidden fruit,
walked with tousled hair, wandered
the streets of my chalices.  You knew
how to unleash the envy of morning joggers.

There’s no answer to the torture
of your silence, you gave everything
you had in the rocks, the mosses,
the cliffs, the gelatin slits of my skin.
Your gaze fell victim to a deathly pecking.
Once eyeless, you destroyed gulls,
infected the solace of your prison cell.




You are the first haggard hours of my morning.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Binnacle - in English and Indonesian for my good friend Saipul Saipul Bin Sanusi


you cannot know
navigation not having rowed
on a man’s sex
shipwrecked, washed up
on one of his beaches

Anda tidak bisa tahu navigasi
takak memiliki dayung
pada jenis kelamin laki-laki
berkebangasaan, terdampar
salah satu pantai nya

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Returning to his Body - for Hamza

Returning to his Body

The boy left his cows
and came to me,
what splendorous rod,
how swift and dark his stature,
what swollen, slender nudity!

My body, my labyrinth,
come call, scold, hurt,
calm my troubled slits.
Find me clinging to your waist
orange blossom in my mouth.

                        Before my eyes
                        a peal of freshness,
                        triumphant, passionate confusion
                        emerges from his legs.

A sound as tender as the wind
blowing through the trees struck
my breast. We were silent,
winners—losers, cut
over rough straws, him beside me,
my face between his genitals ferocious.
He left his cows,
copious sweet wine,
and came to me.

Monday, September 12, 2016

First Ceremony

First Ceremony

You lie a novice on my bed
delightful, earthy, mild.
You appear to sleep
and I’m beside myself
when my hands unfold
their poverty on your hair.
I find you naked, I am myself
naked, amazed,
a shimmer, wretched,
and soft. What can I do
blinded and mute.
Bewildered? You keep
your gaze ferocious, hungry
devouring the dark,
your sex wet and hurting
with the memory of your first
ejaculation, your lips no longer in need
of the child you were.
Your way of being licks me
like a dog, a wild horse.
Your navel makes my head rotate.
I tend my hand towards your thighs
and blow by blow they separate,
and meet, and turn into a fiery gap
in turmoil on the bed sheet.
Take me, kneel, and separate,
come back, hurtle, howl.
All of a sudden you slit
my darkness and rain
inside me!

Saturday, September 10, 2016

Sometimes me, but always You - for Fredrick

Sometimes me,  but always You

You love me?

Are you listening?

Do you love me?

The third silence was blunt.  I walked away restless, my sobs desiring to sob.  How much more do I need to stop needing? What if we sleep together? Should we talk about something else?

It’s cold outside, maybe you should wear a scarf to cover your distant eyes.

My Earthly Goods - for Fredrick

My Earthly Goods

They closed the park
and paved the lawn.
I don’t have more
than what my pockets
can hold, a couple
of avocados, lemons,
a kitten with no owner,
and so many kisses
for you…

Who at the end of the day
all you have are blisters,
a mild winter
that does not satisfy
your longing, and me,
and doubts, and who knows
what else?

Thursday, September 08, 2016

Twilight Body - Sorry! I've been sick all this time!

Twilight Body

I want to rid myself of this blood
depopulate this death
undress this face.
Open my legs between swollen trees
and engender a jungle
where desire sprouts blindly.
I want to poke my head
between the lips of the world
pursue the thrashing of my pubis
and save myself from me
the broken, the incomplete one.
I want to be the dawn.

Saturday, September 03, 2016

Wake Up Paper Man

Wake Up Paper Man

Wake up and hear my voice!
I am your weightless brother
hiding in your shadow, a drunk kiss,
the nightmare of a god, a spider
in heat. I am the nameless beast
that follows your footsteps,
lethal, absurd. I never believed
In your freedom.

Worship me in altars made of pitchforks and whips.

Wait for me in your dreams,
your tears, your anger.
I’ll wait for you warm and loving
so that together we lower
the curtain of blood and skin.

Take the hand that awaits you
since you lit the first fire
and follow your own forgotten darkness.

Dia Nacional de la Salsa 2011, Bailando Salsa. This is how we dance salsa in my country! It's magical to watch!


Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Paper Man

Paper Man

Welcome!  My mountains are shattered
look at your kisses stuffed in the gallery
welcome to the map of my horizons
your nakedness      your laughter pour down on me
welcome to my pocket
where I keep verses, wisps of echoes
of your bodies
welcome to my ashtray of hopes
where your stem pours its bitter blood
and I pay for your hugs with deaf pagan prayers
welcome to this garden of houseleeks

Paper man
locked in his steam cage
the servants
arrive with golden trays
as he hides in the corner and moans

I heard your rain voice
on my paper streets
and all I could do was smile
while the ink dripped
blackening my heavy feet.
In our conversation, we pretended
the casual existed in a wall of salt.
I kissed the salt and here I am with thirst,
tense, muddy in my absurd size.
Stay with me while I dissolve
with tears, saliva, sweat,
our painful distance.

The salt wall closes
and the paper man walks away
into a new vastness.
I breathe in trash, whatever is foreign.
and long for the courage
to turn this paper into fire,
to witness my world ablaze
but there’s no fire in my hands.
Incapable of burning,
castrated for the igneous,
another other light surrounds me.

Monday, August 29, 2016

If you come to see me

If you come to see me 

at nightfall
at the hour of my magical fatigue
and you hold me in your arms
make me recall
the flavors of your mouth,

the echoes of your footsteps
the source of your laughter,
your kisses… if you come
when I’m handsome and wild
and my lips are utter sweetness
and they’re made of red silk
and they laugh and sing

when my mouth is as full
as nail in the sun when I close my eyes
because they’re so heavy with desire
I won’t            know              what to           do! 

A Barren Wilderness

A Barren Wilderness

He fills my chest  
with a sorcerer’s charm,
the thrill of painful things.
There are bougainvilleas  
under the burnt heather.
What I bring inside?
Hallucinations, murmuring voices.
a fallen pallium, the gold
on my coat of arms stripped
and I’m no longer love.
I’m barren rue in bloom.

Saturday, August 27, 2016

In morning twilight

In morning twilight

Night is a thirsty trap
whispering the chill of omens,
a ball of fear falls down the stairs
of countless poems
stuck to the roof my heart.
It’s thundering rain,
cats make love in a great-big orgy.
I can’t focus, everything’s becoming opaque.
I find no compass to indicate the way.
I wander blindly inside your bed sheets.
You move, bite
lightly suffocate me
and place impatience
our on a thrown.
You exhaust sound,
calm tides inside my head
and own me.

Friday, August 26, 2016

Your Breast

Your Breast

perch on my lips ©
and challenge my tongue
in a swaying of saints.
That’s it!! They’re
the holly chalices of nacre
holding up your neck
refracting into upright rivers
that run high. My teeth
lose their edge.

The distance from me
to your night lips  
evolves in tablespoons.
Men and lonely women
read our story, plagiarized
our sighs and you’ve begun
to hate that so and so Gregorio.
It serves him right

for being such an asshole

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Nur of my dispassion


of my dispassion…
you jumped with your back
towards my face.
I adored your back sprinkled 
with kindness!
I don’t want for your eyes
that are so crammed pins
to scrutinizing my eyes
coloring them alkaline
in a face to face farewell.
Do it in front of our friends
so I don’t kiss you.
May our embrace rush the heat
of this mid-day hunger
before the world becomes toxic,

but remember to give me your back.

Monday, August 22, 2016



We’ll call this consumerism era
love making us a dose of powder
            let’s plough the devil’s property
            until the day of the golden ring
            and the cloying gala
            with an anthem to the Blessed Virgin

At the market of love
—buttocks paralyzed with rubber
to be desirable
—whisky, gold, and assets
so that you drift in my direction
and you’re not short of goods in your old age

You’ll open your eyes touching your husband’s back,
he’ll squint touching your backbone.
You’ll both load fingers and hands smelling of drool,
saliva, and lies.

Fruit of the devil’s property
this is how you’ll sleep.
Devalued currency dulling the trip,
devaluated gestures ending without meaning.

Two separate lines on a glass made of dreams,
you think, stir and join, disengage
images of your days of silence.

This is how they wake up,
attracted by the roll of bills that time despises
and uses to consume them.


Sunday, August 21, 2016

First poem in seven day challenge: "Monologue" by Sergio Sergio Antonio Ortiz, thank you for the invitation Chinedu Jonathan Ichu


One word explains another.
Take "loneliness", it’s a gap
or a stone falling into the void,
even the air hurts and walking
is not enough, sleep dies
but you sleep. Loneliness is to search
for your height, your exact size, in others,
or rather it’s to divide yourself
to form a broad chorus of nothingness.
What horrible loneliness
is in the one who begs for affection
by blemishing tenderness. Let laughter
be laughter and hatred be hatred,
and a man be a man
above all miseries.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Fatal Surge

Fatal Surge

You tasted the salt
of my inner thigh,
dunes of fine, smooth skin
strung my most intimate garments.
I found honey in your rump
from where I drank its last fiber.

I followed the crescent moon,
the swell of the sea swallowed me.

Celebrating Lorca's 80th year of disappearance - Celebrando el 80ta aniversario de la desaparicion de Lorca

Madrigal a la ciudad de Santiago

Llueve en Santiago
Mi dulce amor.
Blanca camelia del aire
brilla su tiniebla al sol.

Llueve en Santiago
por la noche oscura.
Hierbas de plata y de sueño
cubren la desierta luna.

Mira la lluvia en la calle,
queja de piedra y cristal.
Mira el viento desvaído
surco y ceniza tu mar.

Surco y ceniza tu mar,
Santiago, lejos del sol.
Agua de mañana antigua
temblando en mi corazón.

Nocturno del adolescente muerto

Iremos callados a orillas del vado
para ver al adolescente ahogado

Iremos callados a orillas del aire,
antes que ese río se lo lleve al mar.

Su alma lloraba, herida y pequeña,
bajo los aromas de pinos y hierbas.

Agua despeñada bajó de la luna
cubriendo de lirios montañas desnudas.

El viento dejaba camelias trilladas
en la hoguera mustia de su boca triste.

¡Vienen mozos rubios por montes y prados
Para ver al adolescente ahogado!

¡Viene gente oscura de cumbre y de valle
Antes que ese río se lo lleve al mar!

Lo lleve hasta el mar de cortinas blancas
Donde van y vienen viejos bueyes de agua.

¡Ay, cómo cantaban árboles del Sil
sobre verde luna, como un tamboril!

¡Mozos, vamos, vengan, ahora a llegar
porque ya ese río me lo lleva al mar!

Blog Archive


About Me

My photo
San Juan, Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico
Sergio A. Ortiz is an educator, poet, photographer, and painter living in San Juan Puerto Rico. He is a four-time nominee for the 2010-2011 Sundress Best of the Web Anthology, and a two-time 2010 Pushcart nominee. His collections of Tanka, For the Men to Come (2014), and From Life to Life (2014) were released by Amazon and Createspace as well as his full print collection of poems: At the Tail End of Dusk (2014). His collection of poems in Spanish, A La Orilla Lenta De Un Ocaso, was also released by Amazon and Createspace (2014).