Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

The Alembic A soft shiny beard grew from his torso to the belly button.  It forced her to moistened her lips.   His abdomen had to be remembered. When his fruit ripened, she placed it in a container scented with lilacs and Spanish Oak, then covered it with moss sprinkled with Jerez. But to her, Jerez was not what gave him the aroma of Montilla and Santa Rosa de Copan. It only forced her to savor the memory of his abdomen.

Broken Dolls 1. They enter the skin of painted leopards to reveal mysteries, voodoo magic. Then they gaze at the world from broken constellations, sitting directly across temptation and tittle-tattle about retiring in style. 2. She looks for her dealer, keeping a vigilant eye on Icarus ready to escape into exile. Suddenly she’s one with the concrete. 3. She doesn’t want to be a calendar queen. She wants to be a doll and spend her day in silence. She has body art; cranes floating through pines, lustrous yellow leaves. 4. She was happy to bend, raise her hand on camera, but the silicon made her sick. Now she swims silently in heaven with a blue mantis, sings praises to her king. 5. Nothing shocks anyone anymore.  Callous is the fad. It is no wonder some end up living on the street. Ten million baby girls swallow sand every decade before their first scream while Barbie plays with medical technology. 6. She started her career collecting porno   hanging it in her bedroo

Iranian Flowers When books bleed and orchards flourish it’s because their blood has watered the tree. When confiscated pencils tiptoe over broken glass the prison walls become the choirs that chant the Holly Scriptures ; the just in every city take off their veils and dance. When butterflies dance around a tear butchers run for cover.  Their pestilence is overwhelming. When angels sing, fifty-four red roses get a world class education in prison.

Field of Passion His spell casts the morning hummingbirds into a frenzy. Witches wombs swelled; they beat their thighs to lure the warlocks with the sway of their silhouette. Then throw our bodies on the ground, spread legs and raise their hips to welcome Dancer on the Moon. Hours passed, the opaque sipped the grape juice. Lunatic constellations spied their movements. They hung  on  to yellow memories of autumn. You’ll find me in your garden blossoming among  the sleepy  tamarind,  covered in apple bliss.