Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

morning news: child hit by a stray bullet… head wreath and veils

My Palace in the Shade I’ve spoken to my hands before, whenever I’ve had visions of Hitler in hell with a hose up his rectum; my laugh reaches new limits. Why—peeping through Hoffman’s camera—am I   more alive alone now than when I am with another man? I know people have nightmares about blood, if not blood, roots.   It’s an excuse to keep dying, or ask for the time.   My palace in the shade is full of books packed with questions.   Is the law, cops rubbing their eyes, and its curvature, an American sentence?   Does it have the right syllable count? Is it true doves demand they be allowed to go to war in heaven? I’ve become a saint.   My grace has a catheter in its nadir.

head wreath and veils child hit by a stray bullet... morning news