trans. from the Spanish by Rowan Sharp







My father raises me toward space

and makes me fall over the edge.

I dream that all men’s arms

receive me in the earth

they kiss my shoulders

they protect the pinions’ seed.


“Ángela, whore,” they clamor

while my body

soaked mouth-to-the-sky with death 

sees my father

darking out the sun

with other vultures.




from the series “The Tree of Names”



Before the naming,

before the animal, even

could lose its length against us,

you fell down over me. 






We pull our feet

in to the heat that raises us.

Our bodies delivered to the climb.

Ringed light urging to the peak. 

I have here

those who undressed, faced the sea

and fleshed the word:

     This is the face, this is the body. 

From the tongue,

flipside of membranes

in the medullary core

we rise.


Now the mirror is winding.

We loose symmetry.

We don’t see sky.

Just the mandrake.

Just havoc.

Joomla SEF URLs by Artio

Buy Lana Turner #9

Issue 9 is HERE!

Order Now

@ltjournal on Twitter