Whos Is Samantha Anderson?

Marginal

Dedicated to girls
are lost
barking SHARPENER (Javier Corcobado)

bleeding pretty sweet little girl,
lying in the snow, lost in the woods, almond
arms, arms.
Miguel Angel was the sharpening of the people on the banks of Jotador.
In Varende accused him of stealing three sheep on the day of St. Adam
to feed the wolf that was locked in his mansion. Damn
wooden house that he left church.
Michelangelo was the grinder, inherited his father left him,
was not a thief, pampered knives axes and knives, sickles and arrows
love between wood smoke from fireplaces flag
spirit of the streets where people imitated gestures bitter city.
bleeding pretty sweet little girl,
sunburnt, lost in the woods, olives
arms, arms.
swung the ropes death threats and old hunting rifles,
where justice was taken by any calloused hand. Wine
winter, moonless night. Michelangelo
awoke on his mattress on fire with hell about grabbing
eyes to the life of a leap to his feet and off his burning
the bag was his blanket
ran wildly into the dark room where he screamed his idiot brother
the wolf that took, howling in screams were becoming
and the door was stuck Miguel Angel long beat, beat, beat,
while they were growing voices of the fire, wood possessed.
embers at the end almost knocked the door and there
Michelangelo found the red beam of anger
who went to his brother in half. Smoke
black bones and hopes
pushed by the cold February wind
until the last pillar of that giant pile collapsed.
bleeding pretty sweet little girl,
wet by rain, lost in the woods, grapes
arms, arms.
The people of the banks forgot the grinder, a spell of silence
their minds and tore it
and nobody knew it meant "grinder."
was celebrating spring and the girls sang their communion
soaked poppy candor, that afternoon
Amos's daughter disappeared on Mount Brenan
between bees and loves waltzes colors.
The next morning she was found, angel skin
torn between the white satin of his incarnation.
bleeding pretty sweet little girl,
under the blue sky, lost in the bush, butterfly
arms, arms.
Miguel Angel was the grinder,
on the roof of the cave near the center of the earth is painted plaster
stars and sleeping in a corner your bike
walls light up with the cry of a reflection of beautiful candle edged
leaves do not fall in autumn and the grinding wheel sharpening
there dreams and from one hundred months ago
lives hidden there and a girl who is lost
each season and a girl who does not return in each season. Barked
This is the sharpener Michelangelo,
I bark like a dog, San
nights storm Adam
sighing when the distant flute sounds, flute grinder. Chiquita
not go beyond the mountain where the knives fly,
memories in darkness and nice legs.