13 May 2019

Mishaps the psychologist blocks my fears
the psychiatrist befuddles my unease
I do not toss these feelings at them
though like chains
they drag me across the flagstones to the abyss

I have given up burning bridges
yet the town still breathes smoke
the tablets have sharpened my eyes
to the kids from the high-rise estates and the brief idyll
once they’ve eaten sweets off strangers

parents helplessly spread their arms
the fridges are almost always bare
morning – eight sharp
the bus stop teems with corpo-people
with bags stuffed full of cyber-worlds

the estate observes – this woman –
world champion of mishap
(this title is perpetual)

on a triple dose
my depression carries life
into an extra-planetary space

I gaze into the foam and the waves
I shall breathe deeply

at the bottom of the ocean

Translation Graham Crawford
Anturaż, FONT 2019

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