Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

he's been texting me all night... is that a booty call? I need to go to the bathroom but first let me take a selfie

the normal heart an ocean of tears   fighting against the tide… in the ruinous summer of a epidemic 

in the arms of winter camouflage we can be anything we want-- a spot of warmth in an icy world

Colonial Shame guilty words amassing faults-- a bird trails its shadow on the ground my injured airy forest at war... bought & sold a gallant extortion of the past I have no choice but to use blended words... I know there's something better down the road must I learn another language... I stand upon your back to face your destiny

to all the seashells— I set fire  to the rain, watched it fall as I caressed your face

Tonight And I, have runaway to tell you– tonight God weeps in my hands. Call me, exiled tonight. Where are you now? Who lives in your arms tonight? Whom else from rapture’s street will you unarm tonight? My contenders for your love– you’ve invited them all? This is mere offense, an alarm tonight. Your treacherous love will be my harm tonight. I can’t flee your imaginary charms tonight. Love will not be familiar to my arms tonight. I’ll try to break out of your arms tonight.

aroma of history, boiling water and a pinch of sage— life's triumph in the thick forest of a Japanese town

above sorrow's tree a flutter of wings in the rain clouds... we live our lives in an oasis of language

this board of curly maple – a map of the last age of my life in its wandering grain

rumble under your feet tanka sequence I'm coming up from hell with all you've suppressed-- hermetic texts with stories of hot & dangerous homosexuals I'm coming up now  with all that was hidden get ready, big boys,  I'm pushing up the ground O censorious ones BOO! I'm thrusting  into your point of view,  your private parts O men of losing battles

in the city of dust you walk with your face turned from me I guard my goblet from the moon amid the blooming roses

two boats moored,   rocking between nowhere and nowhere... two men wrestling nude   in Lawrence’s Women in Love

because it is night the lotus is nervous… he waits for me to say what might awaken him from his dream

if this wooden board were a map, it would be the atlas of the last age of my life

I also published this other book of tanka: From Life to Life

https://www.createspace.com/4807487 I just published a new book of poetry at createspace.com So What If I'm Wounded

in the city of dust you walk with your face  turned from me I walk amid the late-blooming roses and guard my glass from the moon

above sorrow's tree a flutter of wings low in the rainclouds... we carry our lives   like a true oasis of language

Absences The door slams shut and once again I'm driven back to empty pages. No rain or street voices, nobody calling to someone else, my fingertips touching reality’s face, my own face streaked with tears in the mirror at dawn. Miles away—in time and space, you offer your adieu and move on. I stand in the desert where the cacti bloom. Something strange gathers in the sand below me.  A mystery governed by those sacred absences   that make the spirit soar. In the desert far beyond the city, one hears the cadences for which one longs,   the lyrics of those half-forgotten songs… some of them poignant, some of them witty. The words come rushing back like songbirds.