I could've been the solace that cures and transforms
alcohol into holy water
as a doll I sang what you played to me
your words: lies dressed in tinfoil
I was ash, I slept with a fire on the back of my head
secretly, pin sized guns
aim at my heart.
I walk on the streets swinging as always
when it rains I lay on trees awaiting to become bark
when the wind blows I'm Ana and I bring you food
(here, this small heart, scared as a poult, eat it)
wall me a nice looking grave as garden, tell me
this is how is born out of me the most beautiful poem
that you'll whisper it to your women and they will cry.
I took myself in my arms, I was sunk
turning all the lights down I prayed for big pieces of coating to fell from the sky
that wild horses run through my hair
so I won't know anything
about the nothingness you are
the nothingness I was
and about this love as drifting sand in which I bustle
although I know that this
only hurries the burial.