Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

He is what is left of my life a blizzard of one snowflake the lies I tell him are different from the lies I tell myself. When I walk, I part the air between us, and "air moves in to fill the spaces where my body's been."

Marilyn Monroe August 5, 1962 the nightmare a tortured poet the manic fear an imperfection half-drugged eyes under the lids of teal shadows Marilyn’s face dissolved in ink used by men of ambiguous capacities hers was no common emptiness her self-consciousness was really her infatuation with her own fame in perfect solitude there is a lasting fire