I keep tons of explosive poetry
next to my bed
and a gun loaded with fear
under my pillow.
I keep words from hell and heaven,
forbidden laughter
br/>and screams so loud that they seem like silences
that cause wounds.
Poetry, witchcraft.
Poetry, witchcraft.
I keep the formulas of an old fortune teller
among my books
that cannot be pronounced out loud
or you are lost.
I keep the tongues that consume the ice in my head
and earthquakes of prayers
that are not prayed.
Poetry, witchcraft.
Poetry, witchcraft.

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