Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

He’s NOT my President the wind is what I believe in, the One that moves around each form Veteran , by Fanny Howe I eat breakfast, watch t.v.  while I think about the nurses  Uand doctors in protective gear on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The wind reaches into the pockets of the night, sails through hospital corridors I don't recognize, deserted emergency rooms I had never seen where promises are paid  with more promises, and lies  are the substitutes  for more lies. My keys draw lines of fire  on the counter in the bar  near my house. They're building nationalist utopias, banishing unmasked,  unprotected, racist women protesting  in front of the White House. My job is my father’s old job, I write the newspaper headings, pour more salt on my tequila,  stare at each individual crystal, frighten away old precipice birds.

Desiring my boyfriend's body I had a boyfriend once, who believed in decomposition. He told me this as we swerved in his truck, careening the back roads of Lajas, Puerto Rico, finishing the work of some come-before travelers, flattening each roadkill carcass into unrecognizability. "Less for the highway crew," he’d say. egrets, known as the Great White Heron gather at the maw of the stream feeding into the lake too many to count. I thought they were solitary birds. But there they were eating the ticks of the pasturing cows. My boyfriend wouldn’t have sex with me. He didn’t believe in latex, artificial hormones, the calendar or his own control. I can’t, he said, risk bringing a life into this world I’m not prepared to care for. And I’d plead, cajole, argue for his skin and my skin, sheathed in multiple prophylactics, only succeeding occasionally. at certain times, lake flies clot the air, thrumming, their mouthless bodies my body hungers, vibrates with no disce

I am as Lonely as Falling Drops of Rain  I am the poem that began at dawn. The sand of Abyssinia sprouted from my eyes today  and all the perfume in Paris  originated from my lips. I saw the moon rise on a river  in the Far East, saw her drown completely drunk on midnight lovers' lips. Bowing my head I knelt  to beg for God's wrath  shaken by the sad eyes  of alpacas, opened two hundred and eighty-five doors looking for the letter where you say, we learn to challenge darkness  with more darkness. You said, I am that poem that began at dawn.   I added, and never ended . You laughed. I responded, you'll need more than that to get me to walk to your bed.  Then we both laughed.  I think you'll be convinced  before we finish the wine. Who knows, let's give it a try.  I smiled and I said, I'm in . You ordered Siri to turn on the music and I got up from my chair edged closer until I reached out  put my arms around you and danced.  You searched for my lips with kisses.

Songs of Anguish  Clouds approach my eyes, silent spaces, intense blues and greys, buried simulations of a life preparing for the day of departure.  No one leaves dressed in diamonds.  No prince parts clothed in gold nuggets. No one flies covered in sapphires. Abandoned we return as dust or salt. Nameless we embody other parrots, worship other snakes  in the skins  of faceless saints. 

Kaleidoscope Angel  De donde vienes  caminando como rey caleidoscopio taino? Dime? Del las palmeras que se  mecen a luz                     de la luna.  Rey shama taino trans.  Que traes en tu mano? Traigo tus pestañas posti sa ZZZ y tu lipstick.  El espejo está en el  caribe, escondido  en el cora zon bom zom bom de Puerto Rico.  Reúna las tribus del  Mundo empiecen a cantar Dusquen a las wanderwomas  Ias buchas. Que antes escondían otros secretos  que mataron, saltaron un binario  y viajaron en el espacio hasta el llegar  a Jayuya.  Ellos tienen el secreto del niño  divino. El de saltar de espacio a espacio.  Necesitamos su código de sanger. Pregúntenle.  Move on. Go tell it on the mountain.  Make sure they know le lo lo lalio. It will confuse the Ronis.  Let's all keep in touch. 

  Karlo Sevilla Dear Aesthete,  This Could Turn Deadly   You whisper to me that the lonely firefly that blinks and dives down the undergrowth is a teardrop of a broken star.   And this same night amidst the chaos, the infant’s soft laughter is the chimes of a miniature carillon — the last music her mother shall ever hear now that the martial knocks tremble the wooden door.   And you yourself have long realized that you will stand up against injustice no matter the cost, because the most beautiful thing in this life is to do what is right even at supreme sacrifice. © Karlo Sevilla Philippines  Karlo Sevilla of Quezon City, P nohilippines is the author of the full-length poetry collection “Metro Manila Mammal” (Soma Publishing, 2018) and the chapbook “You” (Origami Poems Project, 2017). Recognized among The Best of Kitaab 2018 and nominated twice for the Best of the Net, his poems appear in Philippines Graphic, Revolt Magazine, Radius, Ramingo's Porch, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Collec