Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

In Response to Payam Feili’s poem: Eleven I too blossom in that languid lake— grieve for your words my poems bowdlerized beneath fallen leaves I mourn my sitting Shiva my wild rose in dark prison cells where sleeplessness is at no time impossible, where spring never reaches any further than the walls I despair for my uncle’s only son in the cold season of his naked groin O, how I despair for his lips on my nape

¿Cuándo miente la música? ¡Cuando sonidos de perfección acústica en Lps sobrepasan mis latidos!

when does music learn to lie? when the sounds of acoustic perfection on Lps overpass my heartbeats

con la calma que nos distanciamos de la lluvia— envueltos en un sentido de plenitud 

how calmly we distance each other from the rain— a constant sense of fullness surrounding us