Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Paper man  your heart has long been  breaking others. Soon you’ll turn  into a verb or dust, or distant symphony —much more remote than the poem  in which you are now trapped; It may very well be the way  we’ll ever reach dust on dust, shag on shag.

The Shadow of my Desire Bladed fan, painful stuffing, where are the night ladders recalling jungle bypaths on which we walked with sand-clocks remembering noonday lips and stares, labyrinths of smoked stars?   I feel them rising again like Lazarus, hallucinations milking my desire.  Bladed fan, painful stuffing, today is the funeral of the cruelest metaphor.