Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

This compulsion to become an ageless angel, without a death in which to enjoy myself, without pity for my name or for my weeping bones. Who does not possess a fire, a death, a fear, something horrible, even when it has feathers even when it carries a smile Sinister delirium to love a shadow. A shadow does not die. My love only embraces what flows like lava from hell: a silent loggia, ghosts with sweet erections, priests made of froth, and above everything else angels beautiful angels like blades that rise at night to devastate hope.

Escombros El mundo está distorsionado y existen cerraduras por todas partes pero no llaves y existe la angustia pero no el llanto. ¿Qué hare conmigo mismo? Ocultarme en el lenguaje ahí no tengo miedo ahí está mi cara de ausente ahí está mi abrigo de cría de foca.

The devil that died in his blue jeans sings steeped in the drunkenness of the sun. There’s a blue jean in his song, a white horse, and a red heart tattooed on his chest. Despite the green fog on his lips and the cold gray in his eyes his voice corrodes the distance that lies between thirst and the hand looking for the glass. He sings.