Sergio Ortiz
Topography
 
 
this is my story
and place of birth
 
a wheelchair
a body wrapped in a sack
 
a childhood jerked around
like an unwarranted curse
 
and the stubborn useless desire
for a pair of tailored hands
 
climbing up my thighs
 
 
 
 
Timeless
 
 
You, in my gravest hour,
perfumed with silence—what images
 
caused your fruit to fall?
 You left me shooting
cannonballs
at non-existent stars.
 
Nothing ever removed the water
you gradually painted on my lips,
 
no theatres, nightclubs, tuxedos.
Not even jetliners
or churches.