Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

"Palace" My head is filled with ruins Most of them are built with you Now the dust no longer moves Don't disturb the ghost of you Mmm They are empty, they are worn Tell me what we built this for On my way to something more You're that one I can't ignore Mmm I'm gonna miss you I still care Sometimes I wish we never built this palace But real love is never a waste of time Mmm Yeah I know just what you're saying And I regret ever complaining About this heart and all its breaking It was beauty we were making Mmm And I know we'll both move on You'll forgive what I did wrong They will love the better you But I still own the ghost of you Mmm I'm gonna miss you I'm still there Sometimes I wish we never built this palace But real love is never a waste of time I'm gonna miss you I'm still there Sometimes I wish we never built this palace But real love is never a waste of time But real love is n...

"Happier" Walking down 29th and park I saw you in another's arms Only a month we've been apart You look happier Saw you walk inside a bar He said something to make you laugh I saw that both your smiles were twice as wide as ours Yeah you look happier, you do Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you But ain't nobody love you like I do Promise that I will not take it personal baby If you're moving on with someone new Cause baby you look happier, you do My friends told me one day I'll feel it too And until then I'll smile to hide the truth But I know I was happier with you Sat in the corner of the room Everything's reminding me of you Nursing an empty bottle and telling myself you're happier Aren't you? Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you But ain't nobody need you like I do I know that there's others that deserve you But my darling I am still in love with you But I guess you look happier, you do My friends told me one day ...

"Perfect" I found a love for me Darling, just dive right in and follow my lead Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet Oh, I never knew you were the someone waiting for me 'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love Not knowing what it was I will not give you up this time But darling, just kiss me slow Your heart is all I own And in your eyes you're holding mine Baby, I'm dancing in the dark With you between my arms Barefoot on the grass Listening to our favourite song When you said you looked a mess I whispered underneath my breath But you heard it, Darling, you look perfect tonight Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home I found a love to carry more than just my secrets To carry love, to carry children of our own We are still kids but we're so in love Fighting against all odds I know we'll be alright this time Darling, just hold my hand Be my girl, I'll be your man ...

In the window Naked as the sun skull, I blow murmurs to the clouds, impregnate the pale neck of light with my groping hands, and swallow the agony of the tired images  in the puddles. The rain stops. Immersed in the howl and the gratitude of eyes I discover my Aunt's favorite collection of poems. A cigarette walks across  the moon's dark ear.  An Old-World sparrow pecks  a hole in the metaphors  while I write for the afternoon  make-believe wages.

I am a Bird When the sun starts to hide when it sinks parsimoniously like a burned-out fire at the bottom of the immense chalice of sleeping water I start singing and become a black-whiskered vireo on the trembling branch of a mangrove moved by the breeze shaking bathed leaves by the last glimmer of twilight water I sing to the jumping fish They rise to the surface sweetened by my trills of slow sunsets hidden in the thicket of the agonizing horizon

Preterits of Another Light These are the signs of the old flags pierced by the gales of discord The wide-eyed stares of the hordes passed through here Deranged, thirsty for relentless revenge In these dilated savannahs impaled those who dared defy the secular domains of dogma On the margins of these confines waved Presidential flags and the strangled voices of his ragged constituents remain screaming in agony while day comes to light They remain the postponed promises of legions of preterits mocked and reviled We are the heirs of the sad vilification of cloistered convents, peaceful tombs and withered gardens This earth has dried and from its bowels sprout thorns in whose bosom bud the horizontally crucified rising to the edges of the world

My soaring boy who levitates on December afternoons: I take care of you, cover your light slumber  on cold early mornings A faint twilight thread draws your river god  body paddling over my calm waters  on weightless Mondays I celebrate your untamed, unheeded,  festive beauty while you row back  and forth from my stubborn warnings to your delightful torso which you attempt to keep secret  during evening escapades on my waters

Three Poems Up at Rat's Ass Review

all those voices lurking in the urns of my death— my shortcomings break your window shutters

Poem Up at Califragile , "Two Months After Maria."

On Warm Afternoons Your whispers call me, write the prophecies that die on my skin. I overflow in concave, flexible moments where everything I have invented about you fits. I never find the tender caravan of fans with which you cover your body, or the mutual days of ecstasies in the spaces of time. The reason hides in the shape of a bronze stone man. My imagination peeks to protect and avoid melting at inopportune moments of love. This is how blood travels  to the farthest corners of my tested sweetness, inhabiting the limits of your lusts full of mysteries. I escape your burning witchcraft with hands ready to rescue old tenderness. The swift banks of my memory suppress drunken details. I hear a dissertation embedded in the vases of death, the abys that rubs my shortcomings on your chest curls up, breaks the windows of your beach. Draws snakes with fangs that steal my hours of rest then stretches out on your seas...

Approaching Infinity I am not the fragile child who thought nothingness would one morning appear to become nothingness. I am not that baby boy in whose arms reigned motionless, lonely, silent arms. Flight is all my soul needs to feel your sorrow.

The Waves The body is wakeful space in translation, inexhaustible tension between outside and inside. There are no shores to contain the storms and inward darkness of its sweeping winds. The body does not know the extent of its inner anger. The waves expel and everything is erased. I refuse to see the empty corners of my frame. In its translations I'm still a child.

Poem Up @ * Loch Raven Review , Volume 13, No. 2, 2017,  Taurus  take a look!

Tell Me Tell me how your hours go by, your startled hates, your cheerful dynamites and the electric waves that carry you lost in the versatile foam of a surreal whiteness. Tell me how you live. Come to me, face to face; tell me your deceptions (mine are worse), your grudges (I also suffer them), and that stupid pride (I understand). Tell me how you survive death. You have no secrets: the gap of emptiness (or pleasure) is the same, the sudden madness of some living moment, the longing that stubbornly deepens emptiness. Tell me how you die, how you resign -Mr. Wise- how -Mr. Frivolous- you shine like pure fugitive, how you end up as nothing.

Nostalgic Hate My ears listen to you lovingly until the very end of love. At the finish my hatreds harken, my mind figures it's a weapon made of paper and tattoo ink. I'd journey to East Asia and do us love-making in origami. Listen to the paper fold finely. Imagine my ears there, where the only thing that's heard is me disassembling, each time, every time, at the end of tenderness. Where hate is nostalgic finalization of affection.

Nina Simone Explica Delirios al Gobernador de Puerto Rico ¿Qué perspectiva única trae un estudiante minoritario a una clase de física? - Juez de Justicia John Roberts, Tribunal Supremo de los EE. UU., Fisher v. Texas, 9 de diciembre de 2015 Nosotros fuimos inocentes una vez, sin la protección de nuestras mentiras. Sin dragones. Celebramos incrementalmente el no real, el nunca lo fue. Lo que pasó fríamente sobre los mares olvidados y la roca del río— fusionada entre una pradera sin nombre y un delta desconocido— todavía se extiende sin interrupción, sin proclamación. Llamamos al perro muerto porque los niños pequeños no entienden la muerte. Cuando Cortés llegó a la costa de México ordenó que trajeran a un nativo a su barco, ya que él creía que era el perfecto conquistador. Le preguntó a su cautivo. Ma c'uhah que , el hombre respondió, y los españoles oyeron su primer yucateco en el lugar de su descubrimiento, donde Ma c'uhah que...