Thursday, December 08, 2016

The Bare Facts

The Bare Facts

What wave is it, that when it hits against the body
makes the sailor on duty pay attention,
and later say, it’s nothing, strolls around the room again,
looks out of the window at the scattered lights of the street?
What come-and-go is spends the body of its gait
against the spotted hull covered with marine parasites?

Do you hear the noise? Does the noise come from the corridor
or does it come from your desire?
(Some kind of noise that stumbles with the some kind of silence within you)

Maybe they already turned on the reflector to ask for your help!
Maybe it was that jealous woman who stalks you!

But no, not yet, nobody walks down the hallway to your door,
no one stumbles with the chair inside you, your hero costume
spread on the chair, the same as your hero feelings,
ready for when you spring into action.
Resume the same discourse, begin the same conjecture,

the classic flaw in the middle of the road,
the Divine automobile with the flat tire
obstructs the traffic of tears and the dead,
circulating in opposite directions.

Resume the same interruption, the historical razz
of the flat tire, the sophism of each resurrection,
the rusty anchor of every embrace, the movement
from within desire and the movement from outside the word,
like two twins who cannot agree to be born.

(Here the wit of the phrases suddenly twang
when it notices the illusionist’s top hat;
that soap perfumed by literature
with which I wash the unreal parts of my body,
in other words, the radius of action of what we call the soul,
the entrails of the body,
the dance of the seven veils
veiled by the transparency of the dilemma,
and at night, before bed,
the dentures in the glass of water,
the false wound in the glass of water,
the false desire in the glass of water.)

The signal       the signal                     the signal

What comes-and-goes wears away the body's gait
against the spotted hull covered with marine parasites?

You stopped walking around the room.
But do you hear that noise? Does the noise come
from the corridor or does it come from your desire?

Come and go talk around a chair
where there is a strange folded suit,
go back and forth around an old, broken car
hinders traffic on the highway,
crisscrossed gestures chatter of windows and stairs
carve the Greek statue whose sense hesitates and falls,
the path between a window and a reflector
that has not been lit, while the broken shells
of the darkness crunch and dissolve
under the sudden flutter
with which darkness drives the night.

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About Me

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San Juan, Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico
Sergio A. Ortiz is a Puerto Rican poet and the founding editor of Undertow Tanka Review. He is a two-time Pushcart nominee, a four-time Best of the Web nominee, and 2016 Best of the Net nominee. 2nd place in the 2016 Ramón Ataz annual poetry competition, sponsored by Alaire Publishing House. He is currently working on his first full-length collection of poems, Elephant Graveyard. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sergio A. Ortiz es poeta puertorriqueño que escribe en inglés y español. Actualmente trabaja en su primera colección de poesía, Elephant Graveyard, Cementerio de Elefantes. Ha sido nominado al premio Pushcart en dos ocasiones, al Best of the Web en cuatro ocasiones, y al Best of the Net, 2016. 2do lugar Premio Ramón Ataz de Poesía, 2016. Sus poemas han aparecido, o están por aparecer, en revistas literarias como: Letralía, Chachala Review, The Accentos Review, Resonancias, por mencionar algunos.