Fighting to enjoy
false masquerades beyond the dusk
and before false prophets offend me.
Finding and fighting
false rivers I feel
in the middle of the sea,
the clarity says a dream.
Fighting again,
I dreamt,
of a landscape
that fought through a mirror
in front of another sea
in the road reflected by a diamond.
Through images,
the mirror collapsed,
fighting with the silence in winter,
finding a landscape inside her sand.
A mirror fights
and nobody ever saw it quiet.
The fighter drinks
glasses of vertigo.
--
Guerrilla Girls en el establo. . .
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