Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Three Poems Published in The Right Launch Literary Magazine

In a Dark Room The rope hangs my eyesight and I can't see the flight. I’m drunk on this island in flames. Can't screw my eye if everything is screwed up in here.

Hey, Skinny! You are the most powerful oven on earth you live in Paris ―almost 7 thousand Km away and yet you heat me

The Nerve You let me buy you jockstraps, boxers and aftershave plus invite you to lunch at the healthiest naturalist restaurant & if that weren't enough on the way home you asked me for a moisturizing cream to be soft for the sonofabitch who’s running his hands through your body at six.

Hold On I’m bitching about this hospice for the indigent Word. I don’t want to be trapped in this caricature, my song bouncing off the archway germinating the cracks on the floor with my shit. Where the fuck are you?

Remembering Archer I dismounted your sex. Let go of your lips. Untangled our legs. Threw out the condoms. Night started at 8:00 till 4:00 in the morning. We slept. Huddled up in wait of the day.

First Takeover The day has three faces you must bundle it up before smoking it You can't roll it and put it away because it tastes different, dry You can't buy prepaid days lined up in a box We senses days the same way a bassist guesses the entrance of the piano or , he sax it's announced by the aroma of coffee we drink like evictees

Ficus leaves are hearts of stars they rise like a herd of gestures that lunch on cobwebs and read fire like nervous owls they mend each other like fire mount each other like dust swallow each other like seas revise each other like air perennially brief perennially fleeing They're leaves              loving each other                    they only rise

I Let Myself Fall I know my life will end the way a storm ceases― dissolved in your image already water I’ll return to your sweetness― sparkling wings of doves spread more air than the hurricanes your face lost in the crowd, using my hand  as its bed , dictates my death a throb under the asphalt awaits ... the stream of life that shapes and destroys me arrives at your shrine crossing your garden, pierced so many times by the bougainvillea I turn away life forgetful of the tumble

crossing your garden, pierced so many times by the bougainvillea         I turn away life forgetful of the tumble

a throb under the asphalt awaits ... stream of life that shapes and destroys me arrives at your shrine

your face lost in the crowd, lying in bed on my hand, dictates my death

I’ll return to your sweetness― sparkling wings of doves spread more air than the hurricanes

a dove or a child a song between bed sheets

I know my life will end the way a storm ceases― dissolved in your image already water

When Language Breaks The most genuine tree fills up with you and your larvae. The narrowest street, the one full of gossip, inhabits you. Water pronounces your name when it suffuses our hands with pure beauty. You draw your face on the most horrible dry winter leaf and I still recognize you. Although the world surrenders to us all it's impossible to reach you. Right now, no one’s home. Only you. And you're howling like a wounded wolf. A part of me, of your light, left with to the last name that names us. The other part, the smallest, disappeared with your voice. I mean, your voice was the language of everyday things when you lived. Now language is the skin of the world. That's why we always baptize Death wearing blindfolds. That night I talked to my father who sat at the table. I said what Sharon Olds never could :: The photograph I wanted to find in the family album :: Brothers and sisters t...

I got my hard copy of The Stillwater Review where one of my poems appears. Excellent printing job, I love it!

Issue 12 of UNDERTOW TANKA REVIEW is Live! Painting by Mario Carreño Morales, Encuentro Junto al Mar

a river  runs through my life thirst hounds me

Abacus Sun Names covered with ivory exile enter my room isolations whitewash the walls camouflage, their trickeries Even the purest air brimming with morning white thins