Phillipa Grylls


I wish I were colour, and body, and light.
Find the wet part of space that is my mouth,
the other place of wet sucking lips and
then I will feel real. Free.

Free as paint smeared in vertiginous curves
across the wall, canvas because solid.
Flowing outward in spattered, bending rays.

Make me feel not the being that I am, fettered and afraid, but pure extension.
Social rules are: spark in every cell of space time.

“Abolish anthropocentrism,” they cry and I cry, Yes! But why stop there?
Abolish all centrisms!
Discard biocentrism, for what is “life”?
May we dispel centrism and remain only
divinely definite energy locations.

We will remain cartographic coordinates. But who will make maps?
We shall persist just as we are: smears, infinitesimal
but bearing the disordered procession of being – extant – always.

And let me cry out with dulcet ache all that I am:

               unshapen smear.


I am a lobster arm...
crunch crunch
Cretaceous crustacean roam
intimate white flesh
pull it off the bone,
red boiled carapace
inside is out
fall back in sludge mud
pumped and abased;
the bottom of the dam

Make me stone

make me stone that I might
stand, monolith
mineral molecules merely warmed
by the sun, dampened
by the rain, that I might
know human company
only through the unknowingness
of formlessness

make me a stone that I might be
brushed, ever so lightly by
the dry leaves by
the flanks of tiny
animals in the knowingness
of form as chaos

Phillipa Grylls is an emerging writer and creative from Naarm in Victoria, Australia. She has been published in Lot’s Wife and SCUM mag. In 2018, Phillipa was a Creative Producer at the Digital Writers’ Festival where she created a collaborative literary map. The same year, she interned at Australian Book Review.
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