Wazo Magazine

Nemesia #1: I’m picking heads of people

Nemesia #1: I’m picking heads of people

We introduce you the series of new poetic collaborations exclusive for Wazo, poet and artist SJ Fowler presents poems written with contemporary poets from across Europe.

 

Sometimes in my dreams
I’m picking strawberries
I’m picking heads of people

Sometimes in your dreams
you’re picking up strawberries
you’re picking heads for people
who might have left them behind
by the road, or in a fridge

I’m picking books from shelves
Words from books
And putting them with their mud
Into my mouth
Into my dreams
Into my poems
Into my vagina
Into empty streets
Into an empty street

You’re putting books on shelves.
Bibles, novels, instructional manuals. No poetry collections.
Pictures in books,
pictures of human mud.
Into your mouth
Into my dreams
Into your poems
Into my vagina
Into streets thronged with heads.
Into people dull with streets

Sometimes in my dreams
I’m picking heads of people
And putting them
into
my mouth
with mud

Sometimes in your dreams
You’re picking ants like people
And putting them
into
your mouth
with blood

Sometimes I’m
Picking
Juicy strawberries
While reading
While writing
While loving
While having sex

Sometimes you’re
licking
green strawberries
While feeding
While reading
While hating
While having no sex
if you’re lucky

Sometimes I’m
Standing in strawberry fields
Farm fields
In huge farm fields
In orwelian farm fields

Sometimes you’re
sitting in Pilies Street
and the people take you as homeless.
They return to farm their fields
In small farm fields
In Burgessian farm fields

And I’m just watching
Just laughing
Just being bored
Just, without a good or bad
Reason
Without any reason

And you’re just being
Just crying
Just being exciteable
anxious, bored, violent, rude
Just, without affectation
or Reason
Without any reason
like the metal in the earth

Sometimes
I’m almost feeling it
BREXIT

Sometimes
you’re almost feeling
a word that I won’t use
The only interesting feature is the way the ‘exit’ part has become productive, acting like a suffix which is unusual
and that the word has become onomatopoeic

While I’m reading
I hear that I don’t belong
To this text

While you’re writing
you hear that you don’t belong
and decide to walk

Someone is hunting
My gaze with angry dogs
With fucking little dogs
With love and care
With all that shite

I am hunting
your geese with hungry dogs
With little dogs who fuck
so I can sell their puppies
With love and care
and clean up all their shite

While I’m writing a poem
I hear a cute inner voice saying
Go out
Go out, you stupid bitch

While you’re writing a novel
you sense an awful outer voice whisperinging
stay in
stay in, you beautiful male dog
In the breeder’s world, a male dog is simply called a “dog.”

While having sex
I hear crowds
Shouting and yelling
You took our jobs

While giving birth
I hear crowds
Crying and smiling
You want a job?

Some of them
Have little cute posters
In their hands
With pink hearts
For dots

All of them
Have big fat placards
upon their heads
With real hearts
purple, vascular and pumped

It’s so sweet
It’s so cute
It’s so WTF

They’re so strange
They’re so curious
It’s so an acronym parents like to text to their well-mannered teenagers frequently: “What the Fun!”

Sometimes in my dreams
I’m picking heads of people

Sometimes in your dreams
you’re picking my head from people