Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Girl in Fulton Street They’re not really strangers reflecting off the windows, they’re men walking on a crowded street.  I am one of them, a girl in drag annulling the neon lights clearing my way through a wilderness of cocks.

The Morgue Here the milky quartz in the river delivers its pain to my hands.  Sometimes boredom cradles the climate of my skin as if a drained river had  infected  the morgue of old images, the glittering eyes of a dead comet goldfish, you spread my legs and penetrate.  Sometimes the river never stops  digging and I’m left swimming among the reflections of escaped water.