Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Becoming Visible - Tanka sequence go home slow-healing wounds. . .  like fog floating over the city, let me come apart in the wind a touch of a jay about him, my husband— flying in and out of our bedroom always giving parties to cover the silence, always a leaf quivering in the rush of air what could I give him, but the threat of my extinction

dolls  walking in the grove  of success  absent of mind, dreaming  beauty is enough

A Distant Planet "and there, beside The thundering waterfall of his heart, I rubbed my eyes and thought, “I’m lost."”                                                 Rafael Campo I said, it's like lifting a cello out of its case — "but what do I know of love's lonely offices"* he said, I'm Positive, so I chanted the painted shaman's sweaty curse I'd look inside his throat to see the misery of the world, he'd spot his cock and think of sin ~~~~ * Robert Hayden

my childhood is buried in this body— a flock of whispers a sheaf of pleasant voices

I am the river that flows past a city . . . the soft moaning song of a child, a belonging

certain losses  are irreparable— hard seeds  in a field made fallow  by a fire someone set long ago

secret hideaways of love birds covet the seeds of the honey locust— I let him lay me down on the cold, bitter ground he pressed against me, cock on cock— I believed we were all beautiful, at least once I'm done with the malicious idea of what's eternal— it’s easy for me to look back at what’s destroyed

PUBLISHED IN : THE PEREGRINE MUSE/ POETS INTERNATIONAL http://www.theperegrinemuse.com/PoetsInternational/sergio-ortiz/ The Poetry of War […Syria] If I could catch up with the rhythm of things I'd stop talking and sink into a deep historical silence— poetry of the dead. Ghosts and gyres, sages and tyrants, expressions of longing for a lost world. The misplaced shoes of a gassed girl.   Silence studies the unregarded floor, the effect of Sarin on our lungs, the involuntary twitching of the legs. Yet we must dig deeper into earth to find the epiphany of these actions. Perhaps the temple was a defective construction. Or “Nothing” is more than an absence whose advent is to be welcomed. “Nothing,” a furiously crossed-out “Something,”  Absence, whiteness, silence. The Poetry of War, Part Two […USA] This is about waiting, shifting from one foot to another, the fog thickening th...