Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Tattoos Don’t talk to me about men dancing on Soul Train reruns.  They do their thing and leave me in front of the mirror with my hair braided like an Aztec queen, staring through the shower mist, as if El David walked in naked and I am drooling at the view.  Forget about saying a prayer, it isn’t Forever I desire, it’s not even sleeping on the left side of the bed. It’s the sun glowing  on my back,  my midnight train to Istanbul.  Why the skeletons on my  shoulders?   Because tonight, I’m not the only one that’s lonely.

Ready for the Razor “Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons…” Oscar Wilde: De Profundis Have you seen Douglas walk with giants wearing green carnations, shimmering within liquid space where mockingbirds dare not sing, haunted by the brave with a razor in the middle of the pageant of the stars? Lips never stop complaining, intolerant they see our shadows marching hand in hand and forget the dew at first light.   From dusk to a leaning dawn, we rest between each other’s thighs, season to season. What is the verb I’m missing; down on my knees, chained, forced labor? Iron has never been that comfortable, or regret that significant.

The devil is not without her charm, her little abuses. It’s the heat.  It’s living in Arizona. It’s because she’s got everybody there on a short leash. It’s that she’s cheap and cheap is too difficult for her to really be creative.