[Como calquera outro idioma]

---

Oriana Méndez

Como calquera outro idioma, o que

aboia

non vende obxecto

senón relación, os modos

de vincularse

un operador de experiencias

para reproducir

a espesura da xornada desigual:

óense as latrinas os planos

da herba o tremor negro dun

tiro no ventre

na lingua

O que se di son corpos

cernados de horas

abeiro imposible

escritura dos espazos ásperos

a desmemoria da vida

pública

Escriben

Aran por dentro das mans

Son visibles, volven

as Perseidas azorar

sobre a noite percorrer

os nomes da fame

gorirse no alimento fresco

da curuxa e a fuga

cara a outra visión de existencia

excede

de tal forma visión e existencia

que xamais se reunirán de novo

xamais na cunca, no pozo de aire

entre os dedos que se engarzan

outro soño de vida

mentres o sol, a brancura que fondea

no frío

A resurrección ficticia do que non

acontece

ser contra o firme

o casco da egua

cando chama

por un alustro de nervio

[Like any language]

---

Neil Anderson

Like any language, the one that

floats

isn’t selling an object

but rather a relationship, the ways

of becoming linked

an experience operator

reproducing

the thickness of uneven days:

you hear latrines, the grassy

flats the black trembling of

a shot to the stomach

to the tongue

What they call bodies

stripped of hours

impossible shelter

writing of rough spaces

lack of memory

of public life

They write

They plow through our hands

They are visible, the Perseids

pummel the night

once again running down

the names of hunger

taking refuge in the owl’s fresh

kill and the flight

toward another way of seeing existence

so far exceeding

vision and existence

that never shall they meet again

never in the cup, in the well of air

among the fingers intertwined

another dream of life

while the sun, the whiteness anchored

to the cold

The fictional resurrection of that which

does not occur

being against the ground

the mare’s hoof

when it calls

for the sinew of a lightning bolt

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