Poem
Heather Phillipson
12
12
12
If rigor mortis sets init means there’s somebody who needs it.
It means that somebody
is drained and not awake
and deems any speckles of life unusable
and he is dead and dead
all dead in the humus
of trashed bodies we’ve shoved
down there dressed in
invented relationships.
What’s your favourite part?
Mine’s every part
with a maggot in it. Maggots
mean that life’s still leaking.
It’s like magic
when his dead voice
is nauseating
and I can’t see him
so he might as well be invisible.
It’s like magic when he isn’t
and doesn’t have anything to say
and I can’t bear to listen anyway
so I just recognize my fingers / all
the injuries they’ve inflicted
while my skin drops off.
What’s worse than a maggot
in the EAT ME
GLOVE-BOX DATES?
Does the 5-second rule apply
to something that drops dead?
Is it true he might come back
and crack open a piñata
blue alcopops, bombay mix, karaoke and 4 pints of nostalgia
which is like thinking in another language,
I mean, how it feels, not what it means.
Half a maggot, the memory of
mange marching across his fur
describes a lot of other feelings
the feeling that someone else is taking up the whole room
the feeling that no one could help me now
or ever whether I was on several edges
my hot core and noggin facing this hammering world
of brainlessness and sweetbreads
was always a favourite word.
I don’t know what it tastes like but I know it’s terrible.
a:ldskjfa:lkdgjsa meaning
I’m so overcharged
that all I can do is literally slam
my hands/head/breasts against the keyboard.
Wherever there are
corpses there are maggots.
If we dig him up will he be wearing a jacket?
LOOK OUT
for the milkier, gentler solaces
which for all we know for all we know
could be the wind
or Chopin’s noise (still hammering the background) –
who’s seen it? Only its aftermath
is visible what’s not visible
is the aftermath of my screaming
© 2016, Heather Phillipson
From: more flinching
Publisher: Previously exhibited at the Whitechapel Gallery, London
From: more flinching
Publisher: Previously exhibited at the Whitechapel Gallery, London
Heather Phillipson
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1978)
Heather Phillipson is an internationally-acclaimed poet and multi-media artist. Her work is challenging and inviting; combining bold aesthetics with complex questions. Her 2009 pamphlet, Faber New Poets 3, was followed in 2012 by NOT AN ESSAY (Penned in the Margins). Instant-flex 718 (Bloodaxe, 2013) was shortlisted for the 2013 Fenton Aldeburgh First Collection Prize and the Michael Murphy Mem...
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Poems of Heather Phillipson
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If rigor mortis sets init means there’s somebody who needs it.
It means that somebody
is drained and not awake
and deems any speckles of life unusable
and he is dead and dead
all dead in the humus
of trashed bodies we’ve shoved
down there dressed in
invented relationships.
What’s your favourite part?
Mine’s every part
with a maggot in it. Maggots
mean that life’s still leaking.
It’s like magic
when his dead voice
is nauseating
and I can’t see him
so he might as well be invisible.
It’s like magic when he isn’t
and doesn’t have anything to say
and I can’t bear to listen anyway
so I just recognize my fingers / all
the injuries they’ve inflicted
while my skin drops off.
What’s worse than a maggot
in the EAT ME
GLOVE-BOX DATES?
Does the 5-second rule apply
to something that drops dead?
Is it true he might come back
and crack open a piñata
blue alcopops, bombay mix, karaoke and 4 pints of nostalgia
which is like thinking in another language,
I mean, how it feels, not what it means.
Half a maggot, the memory of
mange marching across his fur
describes a lot of other feelings
the feeling that someone else is taking up the whole room
the feeling that no one could help me now
or ever whether I was on several edges
my hot core and noggin facing this hammering world
of brainlessness and sweetbreads
was always a favourite word.
I don’t know what it tastes like but I know it’s terrible.
a:ldskjfa:lkdgjsa meaning
I’m so overcharged
that all I can do is literally slam
my hands/head/breasts against the keyboard.
Wherever there are
corpses there are maggots.
If we dig him up will he be wearing a jacket?
LOOK OUT
for the milkier, gentler solaces
which for all we know for all we know
could be the wind
or Chopin’s noise (still hammering the background) –
who’s seen it? Only its aftermath
is visible what’s not visible
is the aftermath of my screaming
From: more flinching
12
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