Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

The Mind is its own Place We all yearn to go back to the edge of that fire and kick that fucking election, the religion, the race of an entire nation in the balls so everything breathes at the rhythm of our lungs . But none of that worries us now. We worry about the detonator of tomorrows, the almond beyond the shell, the shiny nugget, and the damn heat even when we know it’s November and an eerie cold is fast approaching. We want pleasure to surround our waist.  It can be you, or anybody else who embraces my body already lightened from the burden of the world. Yes, you can take me to the sea inside where there is only the sound of blood running like a flowered beast. And so, I go back to my room tell myself,             fuck it, it’s better this way!