Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

your body, the gap through which the crystals of dreams usher forth... (aimless women) never to return to Ithaca

I am Thersites crushed by your arm, the brutal weight  of your horses I 'm the one who loves you you are Achilles the beautiful loser, & whether you like it or not my world looks like  an almond, a date, a guava.

nesting on a blue bow skylight cardboard buterflies

the distance which lies between the branches with furrows on my face I've put on my mourning apron. there is an empty bench where I sit and die a little in front of the house. people walk by. I don't explain anything to you. a different death in the middle of the street. … I leaf through the obituaries and the clouds you look at me with fear, (my heart starts to slide down the gentle slope of your black hair.) … it rained because I needed it to rain, and because you wanted you gaze at me through the mirror. night came because I wanted it to come. and I looked into your eyes, and I kissed your childlike hands, and prepared your clothes, remember? but you were afraid. a sullen and grim fear. a fear of watches. remember, it’s all true. … I've not given up on either love or wound. … we never measure the distance which lies between the branches of the blooming dragon tree or r...

tangled I am afraid, that's right, afraid of getting tangled in the barbwires of a dream afraid of your arms shaped like golden bars. Remember what other winters have meant to you: the sea, ships arriving without a single casualty,  the wind, remember the wind, my love, softening the corners.

Puerto Rico-My Bankrupt Island You’ve imagined, smiled, waited so long to meet me that you’re tired. Don’t ask for an explanation. Don’t take away the idea that I have, even when it’s vague. Please, don’t test me, on firm ground (you’d shove me aside). Sometimes, there’s nothing left of you but an illustration, a map. If and when you arrive, you approach, you think it’s alright, but it’s something else, something totally different, a hallucination. You've got magnitude and heat. But you’re the other side of the coin.

moriviví- tu caricia aquel día de marzo

You you were my sea urchin   my turtledove but your name was also Acacia my Cuban prostitute my día tras día tras día the absurdity of a loveless morning yes, you have so many names I can’t single you out as a single person my Juno my next trick but everything is such a lost cause that it really doesn’t matter what I call you the bathroom mirrors are all foggy my bear with a half beard my fifteen past seven my hundred petal lotus

Defeat I've never had a job where I could not go to Paris, have a serene day, and get married where writing a poem was like committing suicide at the sight of your large penis where you’ve said it yourself: I am not what I am or what I'm not where literature is lived rather than studied and the word "subject-matter" is                 synonymous of "mystery" where every aggression is a man looking for a flag where there’s no difference between the ordinary and extraordinary sexual encounters on the beach of existence where announcing me dumb at birth was actually a blessing, I stood by it for so many years that it started to feel like my soul

this is the land where Indian tribes embalm carnations the day's tremulous ink the red hot rose adrift the annals of the jungle you stretch out softer than the memory of a blind man later  you find me and become the rough city that seals my mouth you explore time like alcohol doubts, those orphan airs you exhale, arise from doubts my only fortune the booty torn from fear

flor de frío para Carlos, que ya no me llama dañada luz  de mis huellas llena de voces sucias la parte más negra de mis mentiras nadie conoce la leyenda hueca de mi piel el lugar del crimen mi nostalgia la flor maldita que sembraste en mis textos la serpiente intima de tus palabras tu veneno de sombra el insomnio que todavía me provoca tu voz tus labios el moriviví de tus manos al despedirnos en los días lluviosos y es que prefiero no buscarte aunque empeore mi vida y la noche me trague prefiero acostarme junto a la niebla de tu cuerpo esperando tal vez a que nos tomen un retrato retrato en noches de locura mis ojos húmedos tus ojos resecos tus piernas débiles entre mis piernas invisibles te sobraste mucho más de lo que piensas durante días huracanados eras mi vida el bisturí para partir la esperma seca de nuestros cuerpos y no eras nada ...

it's cold and I want to be December and live south of a love song

I die and wake in the secret fissures of your hand… the echo of a musical note

mimosa pudica - your tender touch  that day in March

your voice  the bell  of my senses my fog

tangled in memories moss covered walls

wrapped  in beautiful slogans  your smile

Image Sun & Moon - by Dorina Costras I squirm between moons and suns unrolling time with fear or brashness 

make way for the man who does not fear the tempests of disdain, that vintage wine of love

I reconstruct my day from a fragment of light— i am the man who came to live here with his fires