That night I’ve danced
with all my soul. Were you watching
to me? The men voice told me:
you are crazy and you are going to keep on the trip.
Anyway, that morning I began to scream harder:
where are the psychoanalysts?
Well, that night in Tokio I began to scream against
the rest of my family, that June day.
And this is not a poem.
And an explosion occurs in Coatepec.
So no one will ever hear…
And that’s the nightmare… of my memory.
Good by unloved of my life.