Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Cocaine We’ll call this consumerism era love making us a dose of powder                         let’s plough the devil’s property             until the day of the golden ring             and the cloying gala             with an anthem to the Blessed Virgin At the market of love —buttocks paralyzed with rubber to be desirable —whisky, gold, and assets so that you drift in my direction and you’re not short of goods in your old age You’ll open your eyes touching your husband’s back, he’ll squint touching your backbone. You’ll both load fingers and hands smelling of drool, saliva, and lies. Fruit of the devil’s property this is how you’ll sleep. Devalued currency d...

Monologue One word explains another. Take "loneliness", it’s a gap or a stone falling into the void, even the air hurts and walking is not enough, sleep dies but you sleep. Loneliness is to search for your height, your exact size, in others, or rather it’s to divide yourself to form a broad chorus of nothingness. What horrible loneliness is in the one who begs for affection by blemishing tenderness. Let laughter be laughter and hatred be hatred, and a man be a man above all miseries.

Fatal Surge You tasted the salt of my inner thigh, dunes of fine, smooth skin strung my most intimate garments. I found honey in your rump from where I drank its last fiber. I followed the crescent moon, the swell of the sea swallowed me.

Madrigal a la ciudad de Santiago Llueve en Santiago Mi dulce amor. Blanca camelia del aire brilla su tiniebla al sol. Llueve en Santiago por la noche oscura. Hierbas de plata y de sueño cubren la desierta luna. Mira la lluvia en la calle, queja de piedra y cristal. Mira el viento desvaído surco y ceniza tu mar. Surco y ceniza tu mar, Santiago, lejos del sol. Agua de mañana antigua temblando en mi corazón. Nocturno del adolescente muerto Iremos callados a orillas del vado para ver al adolescente ahogado Iremos callados a orillas del aire, antes que ese río se lo lleve al mar. Su alma lloraba, herida y pequeña, bajo los aromas de pinos y hierbas. Agua despeñada bajó de la luna cubriendo de lirios montañas desnudas. El viento dejaba camelias trilladas en la hoguera mustia de su boca triste. ¡Vienen mozos rubios por montes y prados Para ver al adolescente ahogado! ¡Viene gente oscura de cumbre y de valle Antes q...

Sombra que duele Cuando una caracola invade el Mandir de tu corazón sin decir Om ni quitarse los zapatos, y no enciende el incienso para rezarle a tus muertos y el  espacio se deshace en tu cuerpo como una ciudad en tinieblas doy vueltas en esquinas donde nadie—ni un solo hombre, me espera hueco de amor, indiferente a la ternura.

Last Train to Nowhere I used to like crossing boundaries with you, on you, tell you everything like that flower-vine that grows fast-forward. But we no longer have those conversations. The after-party’s over, lights on, the dance floor's full of passed out drunks, men who lost the last train  to nowhere.

Another beach in Puerto Rico Te sigo escribiendo poemas desde el paraíso   Eventualmente encontraras tus mañanas… lo cierto es que yo no las tengo las palpe de vez en cuando antes de que orinaras mi cama cuando fuiste campo de margaritas fue entonces cuando busque tu oscura piel de espanto y reviví mis Andes ya casi amanece mi sonrisa es amplio cuchillo carroñero vendiendo lagrimas en el caribe 

There goes the man that was my lover -  Ini adalah untuk Anda cintaku there goes the man that was my lover… what else can I say if not even my moaning stirs the fella who heaves    his back on rocks with me in arms even the ashes remember when he was nothing I made water from the rocks so we could bath when he comes back                                           regretful my memories will unchain his neck

Puerto Rico,  Bioluminescent   bay in Viequez The Meaning of Light The beast drinks water from the shallows while the blossom sleeps where death awaits on unavoidable nights. It translates voices that it does not understand, and hopes to ask about desire. Its deciphered imprints follow the course of a scented field, it’s going to overwhelm the printed hands that rise above it blindly — created to misguide. Trees will be the waves and boats of fireflies setting sail in view of wind, symphonic seeds navigate to other lands. A storm plants death ruins on the plains. After the time of bones, new grass grows, a cloak of fear and loneliness waits in twilight dimensions. A man blinded by rennet in streaming light bites his rage, chews the curd of false expectations, rates desert paths. He does not stop offering dilapidated visions, the challenge of kissing gannets in an empty sea.

A tiny bit of heartbreak You wanted  to play  so you opened  my mouth inhabiting me  like a sulfur storm. Each kiss  made me different. I couldn't go  to sleep. I stayed in the silence of your perfect lips. Where is your home now that I've said  goodbye?

Un poco de quebrante Quisiste jugar y por eso me abriste la boca habitándome como un tormenta de azufre. Cada beso me hizo distinto. No pude marcharme a dormir, me quede en el silencio arruinado por labios perfectos. ¿Dónde está tu casa ahora que te he dicho adiós?

It doesn’t matter anymore You were a little of what is forbidden in fairytale stories, extravagant hobby seducing uncertainties, little of what you said you were. I used to dream of walking you between the lines of your previous lovers without worrying how full of footsteps your body was, I had your skin, drank slowly from your scares, imagined you walking through the neighborhood in the dark, the moon dwelling on crystal glasses, refurbishing the mind with memories that everyone already used up

Surf I loved, was rejected, and slowly vanished, but I loved again and eventually returned to the photographs and the sea. Today I am the surf. 

It’s winter in Paris There’s a man singing to me on the street. He wears an elegant smile and leans against a wall like a question mark, one who lives in a house where no one sweeps away the sadness. It’s as if  Lenard Cohen  were in my room  describing  the weight of melancholy encrypted in the rain.

if it’s not leap a year is made up of three hundred sixty five stumbles… I’m testing the fall

Hombre de los ojos diminutos Si no fuera por la arcilla cocida, las cuentas bancarias vacías, y el temor a mantener a un vividor, me habría hecho pequeño, insulsa ráfaga cansada de aire erguido, gran soplo arrastrado por una cara bonita Barbie Super Star en el bulevar de los sueños rotos

You don’t have a name, you're what's never explained crystal chamber the sea pale bedroom where I wonder in tears cellophane planet tumulus fishbowl autumn fog and more shipwrecked in the mysterious dance of a smile

Acentúas los pliegues de mis ojos Mi viejo hechicero, lento desgarrar de mi tibia negrura, golpeas tu cuerpo sobre mis costillas mientras me desdoblo y te miro desde la esquina de mi cama mordiendo mi espalda, acariciando mis pezones, acabando con mi rio, fatigado, arropando en mi noche.

En la voz baja de tu hermosura No gusto de flor primaveral, prefiero jardín otoñal, flor marchita a punto de partir, tallo besado de ayeres, tobogán experto en el delirio con nalgas estrujando  la tibieza de mi cuerpo.