Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

You with the sad eyes Don't be discouraged Oh I realize It's hard to take courage In a world full of people You can lose sight of it all And the darkness there inside you Makes you feel so small But I see your true colours Shining through I see your true colours That's why I love you So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colours True colours are beautiful, Like a rainbow Show me a smile then, And don't be unhappy, can't remember when I last saw you laughing If this world makes you crazy And you've taken all you can bear You call me up Because you know I'll be there And I see your true colours Shining through I see your true colours That's why I love you So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colours True colours are beautiful, Like a rainbow Ohhhh I can't remember When I last saw you laugh If this world makes you crazy And you've taken all you can bear You call me up Because you ...

Songbird For you there'll be no crying   For you the sun will be shining   Cause I feel that when I'm with you   It's alright, I know it's right   And the songbirds keep singing   Like they know the score   And I love you, I love you, I love you   Like never before   ... To you, I would give the world   To you, I'd never be cold   Cause I feel that when I'm with you   It's alright, I know it's right   And the songbirds keep singing   Like they know the score   And I love you, I love you, I love you   Like never before  

Piano Player to collapse into the defects of a boiling sea moonstruck and impatient to run my hands over dust heaven-hewn. to pull my ears out and not quiver at the sound of your name.  to walk to the end of the world enter a bar and shoot myself in front of the brave man you are.  I want to want to love you, but I won’t.

Tanka sumo, path         of salt and rock     amorphous intimacy, tent built       on swift, hungry illusions

Tanka:  touching the sky foam stays behind, disappears we drift thirst to watch you fashion our garments

Red Why do I paint my lips red when my secrets are hidden in blue? Elegance is a commodity situated in the fine print of my silky innocence.   There is strength in water.  Water is the freedom I never have.  Art beckons an eye full of the kind of lust I can only share from a distance, walking through the scourged alleys of the city slums.  I dwell in secret among shadows lost to the echoes of a bolero.  Dance is my chore and magic.  Once in a while, I raise my offer to show a stream of temper. It is then men gaze on my every movement; I am a slave of lust schooled for a single branch that will never belong to me. The art of conversation bows as a swan, never rushing into a premeditate pose, equally matching the wits of young and forgotten trees.

Salvation I stopped pushing salvation on inner city streets after my husband’s funeral. Maples lining the road home reminded me of the kimono, and our baby; anniversary gifts from Tent. Rubin changed clothes as soon as we got home from Sunday school: toreror, mariachi, prime ballerina.  It was difficult to keep a straight face in the middle of an argument with a little cross-dresser playing in front of you. In the beginning of autumn, that’s when he started collecting the feathers.  My baby, fourteen, lifeless.  He found the first one outside a mud wrestling bar and grill.  It had the Lords Prayer written on the feather.  Soon enough, they were coming from all around the world.  He loved his collection.  I gave each one of those bullies a feather.  I want to forgive but… Tent was very close to his son, closer than the rope wrapped around his neck. The impact of losing his son was devastating.  After the funeral I couldn’t wait; I ne...

Ceniza ¿Después del barbecho, que no daré? ¿Sangre viva, semilla ensangrentada sobre mi pecho?  Eres el " golpe helado" de mi violín amurallado. La única ceniza que no guarde en el vientre birlado  y lleno de esperma, el desconsuelo del sol después del " hachazo homicida" que forzó mi penetración. Más no hubo lágrimas, ni banderas fantasmas. Solo el desplome del universo con todos sus arqueros.

Between the Peel and the Seed It’s the mango fibers caught between the teeth, or men working in sugarcane plantations living in close quarters. It’s fear el negrito will wake-up on the street without an education after a serious hurricane. It’s the consuming image of sculpted ice bleeding away, and what we say when we approach the ocean. It’s a woman and her baby smeared all over someone’s parking space while an exterminating angel walks into a church wearing ten thousand dollar suits, and he’s running for governor.

Trees Define a dragonfly   trapped in the bone white sap of an evergreen ... Eternal song?

Dolphins and Moons A sword sharpened to perfection is unworthy of mention in my lovers presence unless it be drawn with respect. Bones wear out with age, fire is extinguished by water. Simplicity can be chained to the heart like dolphins swim around the aura of a lunar eclipse, but when my loved one touches my hair I splinter into dancing moons .

Tattoos Don’t talk to me about men dancing on Soul Train reruns.  They do their thing and leave me in front of the mirror with my hair braided like an Aztec queen, staring through the shower mist, as if El David walked in naked and I am drooling at the view.  Forget about saying a prayer, it isn’t Forever I desire, it’s not even sleeping on the left side of the bed. It’s the sun glowing  on my back,  my midnight train to Istanbul.  Why the skeletons on my  shoulders?   Because tonight, I’m not the only one that’s lonely.

Ready for the Razor “Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons…” Oscar Wilde: De Profundis Have you seen Douglas walk with giants wearing green carnations, shimmering within liquid space where mockingbirds dare not sing, haunted by the brave with a razor in the middle of the pageant of the stars? Lips never stop complaining, intolerant they see our shadows marching hand in hand and forget the dew at first light.   From dusk to a leaning dawn, we rest between each other’s thighs, season to season. What is the verb I’m missing; down on my knees, chained, forced labor? Iron has never been that comfortable, or regret that significant.

The devil is not without her charm, her little abuses. It’s the heat.  It’s living in Arizona. It’s because she’s got everybody there on a short leash. It’s that she’s cheap and cheap is too difficult for her to really be creative.

The Alembic A soft shiny beard grew from his torso to the belly button.  It forced her to moistened her lips.   His abdomen had to be remembered. When his fruit ripened, she placed it in a container scented with lilacs and Spanish Oak, then covered it with moss sprinkled with Jerez. But to her, Jerez was not what gave him the aroma of Montilla and Santa Rosa de Copan. It only forced her to savor the memory of his abdomen.

Broken Dolls 1. They enter the skin of painted leopards to reveal mysteries, voodoo magic. Then they gaze at the world from broken constellations, sitting directly across temptation and tittle-tattle about retiring in style. 2. She looks for her dealer, keeping a vigilant eye on Icarus ready to escape into exile. Suddenly she’s one with the concrete. 3. She doesn’t want to be a calendar queen. She wants to be a doll and spend her day in silence. She has body art; cranes floating through pines, lustrous yellow leaves. 4. She was happy to bend, raise her hand on camera, but the silicon made her sick. Now she swims silently in heaven with a blue mantis, sings praises to her king. 5. Nothing shocks anyone anymore.  Callous is the fad. It is no wonder some end up living on the street. Ten million baby girls swallow sand every decade before their first scream while Barbie plays with medical technology. 6. She started her career collecting porno   hanging it in h...