Lost in Translation: A Spaniard With English Ears by Vincent Cosaro Language is a shifty puta . Play around with it just right and you can build bridges between tongues. Use only the shape of ink and write on a thin strip of Spanish wood. “ The sky is a cello . The dog is a pair of boots. Red rivers urge me to row home as wolves chew on low bones .” Add more filler a handful of black and white chords some música . Abstract thought is in style now. The gringos will think you’re an artist, that you have something special in your mind. “ Go smoke on food mars . Your feet are nothing but old pies , lukewarm, unmoving. You sleep with a bad case of dorm ears . Your shoes hold zapped out toes . You can’t eat , you comb air like a photosynthesizing plant a large metal tree , upside down a bowl .” They’ll have no clue you’re full of mierda that you have a small book, a pocket translator, turning your native ton...
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.