Helena Pantsis



On My Body As Proof

I eat paintings, ingesting masterpieces so they won’t fade, eternally preserved in the gut of me. I scrape paint chips from my molars. a field of grass or a sombre lady imprinting on my skin from the inside out; you …

Posted in 110: POP | Tagged

bodily (ab)normalities

my body is plumbed, a vertical wasteland, comparable to a compressed chest, some grey weight cloudy and sleepless, against the gut which breathes of its own accord. a picture of health three tablets a day, my mother’s grip around my …

Posted in 109: NO THEME 12 | Tagged

Your father’s tie / has been untied.

Your father’s tie has come undone. Please tie his tie. Your father is unravelling, please take his hand and tie his tie. Your father is a machine. He is an engineer, he wears a dust coat and high-vis colours. Your …

Posted in 108: DEDICATION | Tagged