Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Making Place for You  by Sergio A. Ortiz I look at you to find the traces  of the places where you’ve been.  Look and then remember  how unfulfilled my life seemed.  I look because I’m single  and know that I can.   Don’t want you to remember me  with any other man.  I look and find the traces  of the places where I’ve sinned.  Look and then remember  how distill these scores still seem. And fireflies are glittering Like they’ve seen all of these signs I want you ever closer, ever closer, ‘til you’re mine.

Atrapado cuando se subió a mi espalda supe que había llovido sobre mi cama los caimitos se enredaron en mis sueños

Trapped when he climbed on my back I knew it had rained on my bed the bougainvillea wrapped itself around my dreams

Postcards to Willie Perdomo 1. Chérie , forgive my postcards, I feel like Spain after Francisco Franco died. Almodovar said it in a movie: Regarder que cette nation arabe m'a fait. 2. Tell your wife and children el tío Sergio is going through a phase. The erotica, is for the postman, the one who wants in, yet never knocks on my door.  The friendship is real. 3. Almost took a bottle of sleeping pills I have on the counter where the computer used to be. wanting to rest among angels… PD I threw away the TV set, couldn’t see it anyway. When I wake up in the middle of the night I picture myself sinking into the ocean. There is no static in that image.  Pórtate bien.

Simple Luster I’ve become simple luster louder than a yellow finch breaking into song tearing at the shoulders of silence pressed against the wind of grief 

For the Next One Peter Pan, Peter Pan on a Harley Davidson, Peter Pan on a carreta driven by a dream unfolding like the señora’s fan when she watches Wissin and Yandell move their hips to the rhythm of a plena con ese tumba’o urbano Tumba tumba tumba tumba . I can hardly wait! “Oh Stewball was a racehorse, and I wish he were mine. He never drank water, he always drank wine.” Negro , I don’t see the sun on my skin, it is all on your arms and your face. Papi , I’m living for the children today.   Which leads me to recall I won’t be missing you again until that hussy moves out, the one you drive to family reunions on weekends. that’s right, Miss Daisy, 25 going on 40 in the street. How long you thinkin that’ll last?  Sopho’s been calling her name while she’s been sending out invitations for bigger diamonds. Peter Pan, Peter Pan doesn’t want to grow up. He likes it the way it is;  Bella Donna between his toes, ready to fly.