I'm floating on a barco on a puddle of tinta
- I think -
simply black liquid
Around me I hear buzzing,
the sound of high voltage
electricity
Before my brain was being eaten away
by Luna
now my heart is suspended
in a crocheted glove
and I'm not even gringa...
My boat is casting a shadow of a muchacha
And above me
instead of a sail
there is a Mexican guirnalda
