Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Concrete Carnival You stood up, handsome with the effect of a monster that everyone calls fear and fucks in the time it takes a traffic light to empty nipples and saves them onto lips ready for kisses. You were not always sunk and scattered in night's grooves. There was a time when your initiates touched your sex like amaranth hard as day-old caramel, when the wind of wood pigeons invoked a blast in your pants, the cracks of your streets and sidewalks. And there were bad times because of my terminal illness of “the end of the trip" where ice was not ice but it burned. My heart hurts, on the right side, whenever your kids call you faggot . I feel like building a basement in your memory. Do not let moss and fear give away your age. I look in this city, your eyes, high demand of your tile skin, that once had the innocence of Michelangelo's David  and I sigh.

Wild Thin Chunks of Mercury A Guesthouse in Old San Juan a bed, a table, two chairs, Sharon Olds waiting for me over the toilet top. I'll drink martinis the rest of the afternoon. I write things while I'm drunk that seems good to me. I wait for my friend from Condado to pick me up slowly  like  pieces of mercury,  and take me out  to eat spaghetti carbonara in a place where they have a Wurlitzer because I want to listen  to  that Bob Dylan song, wild, and thin chunks of mercury all that I have left of life