Erín Moure & Elisa Sampedrin

To my Breath’s Psyche


One day it came to me suddenly:
– I’ll fall down like a pig,
a jig-parody of a rat.
Put grass under the shadow of my face to quiet it;
wait to see if i’m still breathing!
– From this, I’m stricken, from this?
– Watch yourself!
One day it came suddenly to me:
– She’s a stickler for travesty
even with my stubborn thoughts opened to hers!
And before i am cured and die like a worm
i wear my forefoot in nary a boot, in a rat, in a trumpet!
– In this, I’m stricken, in this?
– Watch yourself! I once was an engineer…
Apex of an engineer, ah, engineer, ah, engineer, ah, engineer
pleats in her skirts and an excitable air
in the airless air of the air.
Flute of the air
trilling an aura of engineer of the air.
Too excitable by far,
she’s engineered all the air, all of it!
You’ll leave at four when the air leaves,
in the sunny face, agile, of the air?
– And can’t I leave too, I’m stricken,
from this wound in the bronchials, from this?
– Watch yourself, the air rasped, watch yourself…