Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

loneliness is the art of forgetting wishes are a weightless leap if they're not used up

I want to die rolling in the arms of a cello player naked to the waist rolling in my sweet baby’s arms

homenaje a Cid Corman surge la voz en el espacio más denso del silencio, reclinarme sobre el sol y morir en comunidad de palabras, imágenes sencillas que tejen posibilidades

fear as punishment he locked me in the closet little did he know I was more afraid of the shadow behind the door to keep from peeing a treasure hunt inside his shoes a roman coliseum and a few garments that smelled like his gurry there was no such thing as terror, a stutter, tobacco, my mother’s empty  embrace 

dreamcatcher waving in the air... night image of barefooted boys  holding out their hands

my first eternity a walk into silence near the river of tears where a young man on a bicycle fades into the homeless space of my skin how can I forget those tremulous hours where we bathed in each other’s arms water on water—condensed

recluse what is it that hides in the early morning hours? a peace that strikes my naked body a silence— a memory yesterday I walked through cool corridors and saw men play some had legs as long as a red willows some walked on wheels all had happy hands mockingbirds returning from the sea together a smile, a voice that almost made me cry

lonely winter a single star shining through the mist stranded in this bitter air a silent moon *what did I know, what did I know… of cold, warm hands the sun that stayed by my side that bitter night citation Robert Hayden, Those Winter Sundays

the vanishing shape of a leaf… filter of age

he approaches spreading the fan of his tail cocksure he shakes his feathers pecks the ground for seeds

without a roof I’ve never given great thought to the “I” of my soul   whether it’s a blade of grass or a gathering of acorns in the park twenty autumns ago before a suicide attempt— I see my body as it is now, torn and aching like the hem of my jeans regret is not slanted, it is my own  construction the home I built the house I chose 

she has a craving for Popsicle— a return to her childhood…  she’s  *leaning on the sun it’s hot, so, so hot Citation: Emily Dickinson

you died in my arms right after pressing a kiss on my chest,  it tastes  like murder... * the things  that we  love tell us what we are citation: Thomas Aquinas

she forgets to pick up the phone waiting  for me to come home ... an empty socket by her side

I woke up with a smile on my face coqui(s) cradled my sleep capricious power of sound

he said yes while I said no and ran into the tall cedars in hope of forgiveness for those of us who sleep in dusty chambers there is no anticipation only roofless sky the structure of an open mind

evolution Jews in concentration  camps *their frozen  pupils, their prisoner's boot? Gaza a worm roiling the soil and making it fertile? citation: In the Lake Region BY  TOMAS VENCLOVA

my geography I find the climb inclined to the domestic volcano here... a handsome man on fire citation: Emily Dickenson

cats tails pirouette in my cosmos… universal poses of left over costumes from yesterday’s show