Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Cesa Éramos boleristas con las cabezas en las nubes, mecánicos, comerciantes, maratonistas, estudiantes.  Escribíamos sobresaltados contemplando la capital desde el Yunque. Rio Piedras, mi hogar, el lugar del festejo sobre camas ajenas y solitarias como los espejos desde donde solo se contempla al tiempo arrugado, inconsciente del salitre quincallero del Viejo San Juan.  Allí nadie predicaba sobre degenerados sexuales que no hacían otra cosa más que mamar en cuanto rincón oscuro de la Calle Sol encontraban. Allí llegábamos a la palabra cesa donde la nostalgia se convierte en alabastro, lagrima, y esperma.

nunca he sabido conjurar al silencio                                                      ni a las sombras de mi alma que huyen junto al ocaso ni a palabras que roban mi calma ni a arboles artificiales o sofás para robots ni al verbo anti-homoerótico de hombres necios, maricones sin patria ni al hedor inmencionable de é ste siglo de guerras por eso me siento con soga y nudo en mano

Epilogue a collaborative poem by Arunansu Banjeree and Sergio A. Ortiz    1. Trudging aimless amidst the mixed crowd of angry young men, octogenarians,   a few fair damsels, chirpings, smiles and an underlying tone of a strange   inferiority complex, I still think of you. Are you busy with your dreams now? You must be relaxing by your balcony enjoying the company of sparrows, and those imaginary butterflies   you used to tell me about. Yes, I still love your touch, your whispers in the morning breeze. I wish to cook for you your favorite gazpacho soup.   How life slips, slithers between our fingers! You are somewhere in Alpine snows, I'm   slogging over the age-old pavements of dusty Kolkata, with the maddening crowd ever to eager   to clinch the best bargain. How bargains slip through our hands! Here I am in an internet parlour mailing you, yet your face seems so blurred in the photograph,  ...

These Gangrenous Days There are two of us. One soft and white, the other unbreakable, yet forgetful.  These days I never blame them: he’s been iron butterfly dipped in lavender mother of his Lesbos island grape picker whose stalks are buried deep in my ass fears the evening Angel of forbidden words his heart is a turquoise ocean from where I call his name Cavafy I am tearing down these walls for any man as fragmented as you should be able to satisfy my need for strong tropical flowers penetrating my warm coffin

On Her 83rd Birthday  Someone asked about the two women  in the photograph, she looked down and fiddled  with the pages, didn’t want to tell.  That’s my sister, and she’s her lover.  After they mentioned the disease,  I thought about my aunt’s carved chest,  the lace handkerchiefs inside.  they were soft, scented like my aunt.

Journal of Truth and Consequence is proud to announce the  Best of the Web  and  Pushcart  nominations for this year: NATHAN PENSKY, Fiction "Wedding Weather"  http://www. journaloftruthandconsequence. c om/Nathan-Pensky.html JOHN SWAIN, Poetry "The Clearing" (or other poems from this year):  http://www. journaloftruthandconsequence. c om/JohnSwain.html SERGIO ORTIZ, Poetry "Adèle" (or other poems from this year):  http://www. journaloftruthandconsequence. c om/SergioOrtiz.html I am thrilled to share this with all of you, and want to personally thank Miranda Merklein the editor.  I love you my dear friend! Sergio

Tousled Wilderness Dilated nostrils to touch my flesh, lower lip to chafe my thighs, teeth to bite my ankles. Smiles that help walk me through this tousled wilderness kiss my hamlet rose in bloom. Bleed on me, bleed on me. Let me lick your shaft, feel the fervor of your muscle grow.

Growing  My loins ache. There's a lot  of distance  to cover & bridge from your groin  to my mouth, like: setting time for each other, learning what to cook, when to be affectionate or wise in speech, enjoy each other’s silence & private space, make memories last longer  than a passing day before we turn our bed into an ocean full of salt & water.

Waking Skin on my lips accompanies the dawn. Abruptly, I recall you sleeping by my side.  I reach out for your abdomen, search for a smile.  Knees rub against warm thighs, weapons of peace following my commands.   2008

Poem up at  The Salt River Review    Stop by and read the issue.  This is one of my favorite Reviews. Sergio

Dear friends Mario Vargas Llosa has been named the 2010 Nobel in Literature.   That just brings goose bumps all over.  He is one of the great magic realists of Latin America and as a friend has mentioned : This honor implied the recognition of the creative greatness of César Vallejo. Sergio

When Children Panic Panic is not attached to the memory of troublesome times, like surgical tape sticks to the skin. Analyst ask you to lay down and close your eyes, but your thoughts drain and you can’t remember if anyone took the bandages off your mother before she was put in the coffin. (Was she buried with the catheter strapping?) Grandmother would say: “Men have a long tube, it’s for burying seeds.” I would ask why some fruit never fell from the tree, they rotted on the branch, as if resisting the imagination, and open doors. “They need to be picked,” was all she’d say.

Thanks for the Company It’s sad we couldn’t be friends. It’s time for you to leave, the marigolds are blooming. I pulverized some soil to try and keep them warm. My skin is bruised.  The sun dries the wound, and all the while I think of you.

  Starting From Scratch We got haircuts today. There’s a sadness in both of us difficult to bridge.  He’s beautiful and full of something more than just life. He takes pride in procuring comforts I gave up long before we met. I am glad I can't remember what love was like.

Frente al Mar Estoy perlada de noches musicales, acordes de viola que no cupieron en el suelo arenoso de tu playa. Los ocasos me hacen huir con labios resecos hacia en el oblicuo ombligo del tiempo y tiemblo repleta de amores paridos con el más agudo grito y sin aire, tiemblo. La mar, mi hermana, bate sus olas sobre mis pezones, y me saluda su roció matinal, y soy cántaro de uvas marinas.  Amor, vierte tus encantos dentro de mi boca para esparcirme igual que tu sobre una ola. No busco orilla, más bien el sosiego de haber sido huella de coral vivo en tu último ocaso. Traigo sobre mi espalda la más reciente lluvia y el aire libre de mi hermana Julia batiéndose a golpes co n olas gigantes frente al mar.  Triunfando, siempre triunfando.

Making Place for You  by Sergio A. Ortiz I look at you to find the traces  of the places where you’ve been.  Look and then remember  how unfulfilled my life seemed.  I look because I’m single  and know that I can.   Don’t want you to remember me  with any other man.  I look and find the traces  of the places where I’ve sinned.  Look and then remember  how distill these scores still seem. And fireflies are glittering Like they’ve seen all of these signs I want you ever closer, ever closer, ‘til you’re mine.

Atrapado cuando se subió a mi espalda supe que había llovido sobre mi cama los caimitos se enredaron en mis sueños

Trapped when he climbed on my back I knew it had rained on my bed the bougainvillea wrapped itself around my dreams