Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

noches de tormentas sin saber de ti clava duro mi incomodidad clava duro la separación lo duro de querer más no saber clava duro el consuelo de estar a tu lado sin el llanto solo la risa tus ojos claros clávame duro

scattered ripples when my face reached his genitals fierce waves tossed around my sun-struck hell i ate my dreams with lemon and salt like Joan the Mad Queen & there was nothing to be said i rose he left i drowned angels in their smug water scattered ripples with my tongue pinned…  wriggling on the wall i have known flat legs of lonely men in blue jeans & empty boxes where [every-would-be Lazarus] hid a million handkerchiefs yet never said a proper hello or good-bye ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, June 28, 2010

The Metropolis of Dispossessed Catacombs There were only two of us in the city.  Ruben and I moved there after graduation, the day after our wedding.  We cleaned the catacombs of the dispossessed until a little after twelve.  Then we’d break for lunch.  I made a picnic basket, he drove us to the beach. After eating, I’d see tears overflowing in his eyes, so I’d take my clothes off and let him possess me.  We’d head back to the catacombs, take the anti-viral BP had developed, and do it again on our bed. Ruben would take his time and cuddle.  He’d brush my hair, or what was left of it.   Whisper:  Do it to m e.  My eyes rolled back, teeth clattered.  The catacombs echoed as I grew wings and horns. Ruben screamed profanities at the gangplank leading to the vaulted domes, near the entrance of the metropolis, where a colossal seraph stood dripping oil, before we fell undone trying to crack the riddle of progress . ©  Sergio...

Esperando a Claudet 1994 -No se Alison, tengo mucho trabajo.  -Ustedes son cinco y el apartamento es muy pequeño.  Además hay una rata pari’a dentro del sofá, y solo tengo dos camas.   -¿Te imaginas que te muerda a uno de los nenes?   -A veces no estoy bien.  Pero a veces me pongo nervioso alrededor de la gente y me cago encima.   -El Paxil no me está funcionando.  Si pero, tengo que ir al doctor para que me lo ajuste.   -Este a ñ o estuve en el hospital tres veces.   -Cielo… trata de entender.  No es que no quiera.   -Se que son las únicas vacaciones que vas a tener este a ñ o, pero…espera.   -No lo tomes así.  Espera.  -¿Alison, Hello?  - ¿Hello ? 2009 -¿Hello, Claudet?   -Chica, te llamo porque me dio un ataque del corazón.   -¿Quería saber si me acompañas en el hospital?   -Estoy con mi vecino, en emergencias médicas, aquí al la...

Hallelujah  Baby, I've been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you. Yeah I've seen your flag on the marble arch, But listen, love is not some kind of victory march, No it's a cold and it's a very broken Hallelujah. Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, (Hallelujah...) There was a time you let me know What's really going on below, Ah but now you never show it to me, do you? Yeah but I remember, yeah when I moved in you, And the holy dove, she was moving too, Yes every single breath that we drew was Hallelujah. Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah. Maybe there's a God above, As for me, all I've ever seemed to learn from love Is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you. Yeah but it's not a complaint that you hear tonight, It's not the laughter of someone who claims to have seen the light No it's a cold and it's a very lonely Hallelujah. ...

Broken Away I will not look into your eyes full of sluggish places burrows lit with bonfires made from shadows gloomy stories that I’ve never tread I cannot bathe in springs of broken wings or have a conversation with your oversight or chant good-byes to arms wrapped around the sands whisking through the murky spaces of your air I must not be alone with any of your dreams ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, June 22, 2010

Bestiary # 1 Bestiary Today I took pleasure in distance, seated alone in the willow forest, eating rice with honey and milk, then sleeping with the lights off. I didn't dream about toads lurking behind doors, or dead fish in plastic bags. I didn't hide toys in the closet, or matches, or candles. It's not that I don't love you, Daddy. It's that you created the distance with your regimented humiliation. I approached you as a hummingbird only to feel winter’s frost. A cardinal sang magical melodies, kept me alive. I cured my injuries as I could, and if unable I gnawed, burned, spat, covered with garlic and mud. Yet the best herbarium was time and distance—the most spectacular of all my acts of wizardry.   ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, June 21, 2010

Bestiario # 1 Hoy disfruto la distancia sentado a solas en el bosque de sauces, comiendo arroz con leche, acostado con la luz apagada. No sue ñ o con sapos detrás de las puertas, ni pescaditos muertos.  No escondo juguetes en el armario, ni fósforos, ni velas. No es que no te quiera.  Papa, es que la distancia la creaste   t ú con el régimen de humillaciones. Me acerque como un colibrí y sentí la escarcha del rechazo, el caminar sigiloso de la pantera, la mordida del perro rabioso. Mientras un cardenal cantaba su magia para mantenerme vivo. Cure las heridas que pude. Las que no pude curar, las mordí, o queme, al final las escupí, las cubrí con ajo y lodo. Pero el mejor herbario ha sido el tiempo adjunto a la distancia, el más espectacular de todos mis actos de magia. © Sergio A. Ortiz, June 20. 2010

Anti-horóscopo no mirare tus ojos llenos de lugares lentos madrigueras alumbradas con fogatas de sombras historias de tristezas que nunca he recorrido no quiero que me toquen manantiales de alas rotas ni hablarle nuevamente al olvido o rezarle otro adiós a brazos ceñidos a arenas que se abaten                      en espacios espesos de tu aire no estaré a solas con tus sueños ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, June 19, 2010

In the Rivers of My Affection This poem has been accepted for publication.  It will be posted sometime next year. ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, June 17, 2010

En los Ríos de mi Apego Ahoga tú espera en los ríos de mi apego. Dejare que tu hermosura bese mi sufrir.    Te alejo   de mí desde hace ya tanto. Tráeme arrobo. Tráeme canción ©   Sergio A. Ortiz, June 15, 2010

después de los laureles, casi un soneto un beso negro empato la carrera allá en el cuarto oscuro de tu ojo sin salida córrete amor córrete que te has ganado otro besito córrete las cortinas si me vas a jinetear

La Cosa en Si Le perdí el sabor a tu mirada c í clope   el domingo por la mañana poco antes de que saliéramos a pasear por la vereda en el trópico de cáncer.  Descubrí un mogote de letras debajo de tu almohada. Estaban listas para convertirse en sílabas, acentos y ritmos ajenos a nosotros, palabras, símiles que retan mi imaginación como si hubieses alcanzado mi torre con tu verga latiendo, chorreando lubricante, fruto caído de tu voluntarioso árbol.  ¿Y te pregunto por tercera vez, cuál es el nombre de tu casa? Porque dicen que a la tercera   va la vencida, la que no se bate a tiros con el corazón.  ¿Dime la verdad, d ó nde encuentro los limites de tu castillo?   Noumenal This poem has been accepted for publication.  I will put it back up when it gets published. ©   Sergio A. Ortiz, June 15, 2010

Because of you I am on my way to Paris Change the tire , he said as he threw the jack and nut wrench on the asphalt lot, consider it your last dance lesson .   Then he walked away into the bar.  I set the carousel on fire, but music kept ringing in my ears like the voice of history taking a crap in grandfather’s outhouse. I was born with the knowledge of the wind on the tip of my cock. I turned around and started walking en pointe , thumbed a ride to Paris. ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, June 12 , 2010