Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

The Smell of Sulfur By Sergio A. Ortiz The odor of sulfur was as strong as the company brought to the podium of Titans. Gaia and Ouranos spat angry epithets to each other in the oval office of the armory on Boulevard where the effigy hid bottles of gin. On television the rib-tickling, righteous Titan got an opportunity to explain the notion of drowning in the desert to the nation recently targeted by terror. The program furthered the graven image’s intent to build a large metal barrier. Who knew if it was to keep some out, or trap some in? Women tip-toeing north through the desert left an uncomfortable trail of blood too long to ignore, rivers of pearls buried under the roots of ancient saguaros on Cristero soil. Words pronounced by shebang smoking idols didn't mean a thing to thirty million butterflies. They were there first. Copyright © 2009 Sergio A. Ortiz

Collective Madness Around the house the flakes fly faster, And all the berries now are gone' Birds At Winter, Thomas Harding Collectively we are over exposed driftwood bewitched by the light, pretty little cento, an eclipse enchanted with a rainbow. Our childhood memories linger like pastoral triolets about rolling meadows. Luck has nothing to do with interpreting the veils with which we choose to cover our faces. enlightenment happens after we fall. Madness comes in the form of eyes appended to blood dripping rocks when our demons fail to cross the river. never is where we usually drink tea and endlessly suck on lemons. smiles are inevitable when we spar with strangers yet fail to bring about change. Copyright © 2008 Sergio A. Ortiz Published in Kritya