Bandit Nights
I am tired
of this monotonous,
sedentary afternoon
in which long-faced gentlemen
vociferate their ignorance
of the Afghan war.
Dazed afternoon
under the scorching sun
watching a mangy dog
get up off the floor
unconcerned with the child
who just got shot
by its side.
I want to emigrate,
find nights sharpened by
the owl’s eye,
nights full of bandits
and consumptive whores.
I want to crumple up
like the wasp’s neurosis
on my bed.
Oh, outlet city,
how is it that my verses
are born in this ferocious
village? What empty lines
did I mistake for an oasis,
dark-dense people
full of shady passions?
Progress
Kill a tree,
un-frame the stars.
We are the grotesque
setting of unanswered
questions whose useless
voice is distorted by
the sterile wind.
And the dust continues
to pile up.
Pity people who break
over nothing.
Their moon is as white
as an owl’s blind eye.
In an Hour
Like everything that finds me,
damned spring,
you’ve set a price
on blooms of bugambilias
around the periphery
of my brow.
And here I am drawing on
conclusions.
Who cares if love comes
and goes in an hour?
Goddamned lying spring,
allow me to kiss you
as if a kiss were more
than just a kiss.
Idem
I see him as a dead tree
covered with clematis and ferns.
He laughs like an old shoemaker
entangled in own his shoestrings.
Nothing removes the moisture
in his eyes. He’s a prairie
let loose on the street.
We are not the same,
yet we are.
Upon Receiving a Rejection Notice
Envy is the Lemonade
Countess, small cutesy
runaround with that oh, really,
yes-yes expression on her face
aristocrat macaques are
so fond of.
—Yes, Monsieur,
we love your rigadoon dance.
Your elegant word of the day,
volupté . But in our presence,
please, don’t mention frogs.
They multiply in the mirrors
at the king’s court.
Sergio Ortiz has a B.A. in English from Inter-American University, and a M.A. in philosophy from World University. He has work forthcoming in Autumn Sky Poetry, The Smoking Poet, The Acentos Review, and Poesia. He lives in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
