Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

pilares secretos bien guardados deudas pagadas con besos a hombres foutaise vestidos de agua pillars well kept secrets debts paid with kisses to foutai se   dressed in black pilastri ben tenuto segreti debiti pagato con i baci a foutaise vestita di nero pilastra segredo bem guardado debiti paga com beijos foutaise vestidos de preto piliers des secrets bien gardés passifs hommes ont payé baiser foutaise l'eau

She’s a homophobic warlord with a miniature bible carefully tucked in her bra dedicated to WAPA, SuperXClusivo, Cobo Santarosa, and Hector Travieso.  SuperXclusiov; This poem has been published in both the United States of America and the United Kingdom.  We are hoping that the future jingles from WAPA are a bit more specific about attacking the problem of homophobia in Puerto Rico.  The first jingle was a sad and insulting demonstration of how a Television Station is capable of fooling an audience into thinking they are part of the solution by not really saying anything specific about the issue.  We file experiences like this so that they don’t happen more than once. It started before she could read at Sunday mass she’d stare at the faces of immovable angels— La Madonna and byzantine saints in cut-glass windows—imagining herself speaking to the masses. When her boobs started growing the junior high jock, a prodigy bible belt preacher, invited her to Wa...

tus lecciones exclusivamente anacrónicas me quisiste hacer tu esclavo para eso inventaste mitos y fabulas sobre mis antojos callejeros. te pague como paga una marica de vanguardia dejándote mensajes en la interminable cola de una iguana y hologramas de Sarita Montiel pintados en mis labios. Fuiste fuerte. Confabulaste rituales fuertes. Rituales confabulados por chango, fuertes, con la única intención de silenciar mis lápices, acallar mis sollozos, enmudecer mis reclamos, convertir en un chiste mi ultraje. Yo fui el ni ñ o, tu el hombre. Miguel, odio ese nombre. siempre odie tus juegos, tu alcohol, tus canciones.  Tuviste un solo talento en la vida, yo.  Aunque digas que te cambias el nombre, tuviste un solo talento en tu vida. Di que vuelves a cambiarte el nombre y el único talento que has tenido en la vida te pasar á la cuenta. yo escribiré tus mitos y tus fabulas (tus lecciones filosóficas exclusivamente anacrónicas) cuentos de cuna, así tus hijos sabrán quien te...

three Dohkos playing      in my fruit garden                   adventuresome Bengali             kittens born on            the constellation of Libra

This is what the brave Iranian Government does and then calls it justice.  This is the work of a misogynist homophobic society.  I spit on this kind of religions practice, I spit on this government, I spit on the people who standby and watch this atrocity and do nothing but keep their mouths shut.  They are accomplices of the Ayatollahs of death, barbaric inhuman animals that dispense the law in the name of Allah.  I spit on their solided robes, stained with the murder of innocent men, women, and children.

Tal Vez Cada golpe me arrimaba m á s a la guillotina del silencio el sue ñ o se inmovilizo la cama comenzó a esfumarse y el amanecer se revirtió a un enfermizo tal vez  desesperante y cuando no quedo sino el adiós orine parada dentro de tus zapatos. Perhaps Each new blow  brought me closer  to the guillotine of silence my dream shot down  our bed vanished. Dawn reverted  to a maddening perhaps and when nothing  but a definite good-bye remained, I stood up  and pissed inside  your shoes. Forse Ogni nuovo colpo  mi ha portato più vicino  alla ghigliottina del silenzio il mio sogno abbattuto  il nostro letto scomparsa. al alba tornare a un esasperante forse e quando niente  ma un preciso addio rimasta, mi alzai  e pisciato dentro  le scarpe.

At the Funeral of a Murdered Woman She prepared for the Via Crucis by putting the white silk mantilla on top of the peineta buried in her azabache hair.    La primera estación, hands clapped in dissonance, the torches were set on fire.  Brunilda emerged from the shadows chained to the wall, un alma en pena .  She dragged the long, heavy fetters a few steps before she tore off the bolero jacket and expose her small white breast. Then she darted into the crowd, her little feet hammering the wooden floor with a flamenco, arms outstretched until the chains gave out and her body threw itself to the ground. Her sisters stood and grabbed the chains around Brunilda's wrist, wrapped them around their own arms. The guitarist's widow grabbed the fetters too. All the women danced and flung themselves at the crowd. They pulled on the chains to haul their bodies up against the wall.  With arms still wrapped in shackles they ran into the crowd repeatedly until they w...

Memories Feet jumping off boulders into crystalline river waters near ceremonial grounds. Hieroglyphs of other feet strolling on beaches full of mosquitoes.  Scared feet flying in the air on dirty motel beds in Oz, roasting like the roasting heart of a goose thumbing rides from Telegraph Street to herethere Oakland.  Feet posing in the nude for the muscular arms of a shy blond biker from South Carolina. Feet of men staring as wives run their fingers through silk stockings men burning to wear silk on the outside.

Wild Woman and the Piano Player In a dream, she demanded he go fetch those little affections hidden after her mother’s death: five yards of black lace, three wigs, and the six-foot lipstick palm tree left to die in their old apartment. He was a good for nothing, nobody piano playing fascist pursuing cheap adventures in cabarets.  With nothing to fear, she dragged him into her song, an accomplice to burning vultures, “ The Most Beautiful Drowned Man In the World .” It was difficult to find gigs playing ghost music so he became psychic assistant to a private investigator. They moved to Bangkok, where no one hated them, and continued entertaining the dead.  She took up farming in her strapless black gowns and occasionally landed work at the Floating Cabaret in the Patong Paradise district.  Juan the one-eyed gaucho brought her Cinnamon Myrtle every Wednesday.  Esteban showed up dead on Carthage beach, bones weighty from the water, taller, much taller than lipst...

Nanshuko parte 4 XII derram ó vino   sobre mi zapato     floreció       en la esquina de mi cama         hoja de hierba doblada XIII ¿dónde está mi Buda?   ladeando sobre     mi madera   seducido por mi albergue XIV me ausento    de su cuerpo     despidiéndome de su ropa   terciopelo arrugado en el piso XV noche larguirucha   desmayada en la saliva de sus pezones   mi sombra se inclinan   hacia tu frente

que importa se me tiro encima quería ahogarme.  estaba enfermo. luche, le partí el labio, lo patee. busque dos pedazos de madera dura, los cosí clav é y clavé .  Hice un hoyo, lo m á s profundo que pude. enterré el madero al revés y a latigazo limpio lo obligue recitar:   “yo soy puertorriqueño sin na, pero si quebranto Y al echón que me desmienta   que se ande muy derecho…”   que importa.  aquí no hay desiertos de cenotes mayas solo crepúsculos de saliva.

Olive Harvesters to Miguel Hernandez on his Centenary handcuffs hung sun to sun moon to moon —Where are the olive groves? Still standing.

Ayer fui a la farmacia de este Walgreens.  Llegue a las 2:30 pm y a las 3:30 me levante para ponerme en fila y preguntar si ya estaba mi receta.  La muchachita que está a cargo de atender a los clientes en la ventanilla de entrega de medicamentos inmediatamente se dio cuenta de que yo le iba a reclamar la tardanza en despachar mi receta.  Puso una cara muy común entre las tribus Africanas que tienen guardianes que vigilan la conducta de los niños durante alguna celebración tribal, por lo general escogen a la mujer, más fea de la tribu, tan fea que asusta, el saber instar el temor en este tipo de situación es muy importante dentro de la tribu.  Cuando me toco mi turno, me ignoro y se puso a hablarle a un matrimonio que ni siquiera le iba a preguntar nada, no se habían puesto en fila, parecían estar de luna de miel, muy envueltos en darse besitos y cosas así.  Cuando le reclame me alzo la voz para decirme que ellos habían estado esperando más que yo. ...

Sentimental I thought about doves feeding off my hand feet soothed in the Acheron river. I’d follow you straight to the firing-squad and refuse to take my nitroglycerin tablets.  Today I found the two-by-four of melancholy. ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, July 14, 2010

The Copy Emeralds are priceless in the City, but never as much as a guttural no. She trained to hide that slave-of-love touch in her blues. As if the copy of the woman over- powered the original, the way it happens in drag shows; two men under the spell of a masterful mesmerist. The original man parades his strength like a peacock fanning its tail. His stare is the only weapon needed to make you dance. In the end I said no the way I did to elhonudreño the day he beat his güera at a party. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *elhonudreño = the honduran *güera = blond woman ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, July 14, 2010