Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

This Bitter Earth  Smoke in my eyes; a silhouette, a line of sea salt, rainbow memories mingled with bluegrass on a castaway  sail.   And there you are  sitting  on a sand dune.   And here I am,  silent Delaware  watching you count  minutes  from behind each other’s veils.  But for these veils  we walk among our anxieties too conscious of our nakedness.

To *Jose Manuel Otero Puerto Rican Writer I’m breaking in new point shoes.  Skin around the edges bleeds, unstitches the sky like the odor of madness to the dead —  when I am pulling down his zipper and filling my mouth with Andy Warhol copies of Marilyn finding the camera’s light on her lips. Her eyes sing;  “happy birthday— come get it.  It’s all mine but I’m giving you a taste. Baby, it’s not a cunt but I look just as good as she did in that white skanky dress, chichies and all,  I’m hard-on- pancho —to you,  fuck better than Juana la Loca too . For History's sake: ** Jose Manuel y yo no conocimos en los pasillos de la escuela superior.  El siendo unos años mayor se fue a estudiar a la UPI.  Luego nos encontramos en el centro de estudiantes y a través de un amigo mutuo, Reynaldo Rivera leí su primer cuento corto escasamente terminado de escribir en aquella mesa al lado de la mía.  Jesús Manuel se molesto mucho cuando Rey me dio a leer el cuento ya que se di