Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

The Outlaws of Canon two men coming down  on all fours from their presidential palace, licking hands and legs, dying, poisoned by their own decision             and will. Not one of them rests and as a pack they chase             exotic reindeer screaming, fire in the News Room. Depraved, language perverts howling in the chicken coop of news anchors. Ha, their fame demands a change in personnel. Yes, outlaws of canon, with accumulated miles of prostitution and falsehood, fleeing their brothers, forgetting their parents exile. No, we will not forget our stay in this country. Nor the years of delay we gave up to let them prosper. Listen to how frozen hurricanes emerge from the dew!

At the Margin of Things These days behind what I write there's always rain. Music opens a sphere and unheard of ghosts come and go as they please singing, dance me to the end of love, but I can’t. The insults, the injuries made at the margins   are unsafe halfway houses of terror, where naked orange clowns  grow balls,  and file their nails . Gravity ceases under their wet boots and it rains all over my margins.