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Gedicht

Heather Phillipson

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A LOT OF WORK
goes into making sex alluring sex
is just this and that
but it seemed, for a moment, that a new
climax had been won when
even the sky fingered me
with a slobbery insistence when
we were retching with so much desire
we created a whole new atmosphere
grabbing at sex things /
using the sick bag to be actually sick in
now the shower curtain is transparent
it’s a way of saying, “I want you too
to have this experience
so that we are more alike
like a sign that life struck once
in a slippy-bits marathon
that began when our eyes were magnets
yanked to each other’s fully charged
crotches at a picnic
when it was essential
to make every enhancement
to our ‘connection’ by getting seriously indecent
beside the bluetooth wireless speaker system
until even the trees had to dash inside
to pour ice in their underpants”
while I choked up playing the scene, as we lived it,
united by our pursuit of arrhythmia or
satisfying itches to that
catchy bridge section in Chopin
(I couldn’t wait to come
with Chopin through his melancholic meadow
(not that I approve of background music
(I prefer to foreground the piano
by massaging it loud and all over
until the top layer comes off in my hand
and the pedal squeaks for humanity
(I like to FEEL a piano as an instrument
of interruption and consciousness
(though I also like to take light swims, to get away
from what I FEEL (today I felt
jellybeans resemble kidneys))))))
which throbs like everyone grieving 
Heather Phillipson

Heather Phillipson

(Verenigd Koninkrijk, 1978)

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6

A LOT OF WORK
goes into making sex alluring sex
is just this and that
but it seemed, for a moment, that a new
climax had been won when
even the sky fingered me
with a slobbery insistence when
we were retching with so much desire
we created a whole new atmosphere
grabbing at sex things /
using the sick bag to be actually sick in
now the shower curtain is transparent
it’s a way of saying, “I want you too
to have this experience
so that we are more alike
like a sign that life struck once
in a slippy-bits marathon
that began when our eyes were magnets
yanked to each other’s fully charged
crotches at a picnic
when it was essential
to make every enhancement
to our ‘connection’ by getting seriously indecent
beside the bluetooth wireless speaker system
until even the trees had to dash inside
to pour ice in their underpants”
while I choked up playing the scene, as we lived it,
united by our pursuit of arrhythmia or
satisfying itches to that
catchy bridge section in Chopin
(I couldn’t wait to come
with Chopin through his melancholic meadow
(not that I approve of background music
(I prefer to foreground the piano
by massaging it loud and all over
until the top layer comes off in my hand
and the pedal squeaks for humanity
(I like to FEEL a piano as an instrument
of interruption and consciousness
(though I also like to take light swims, to get away
from what I FEEL (today I felt
jellybeans resemble kidneys))))))
which throbs like everyone grieving 

6

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