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Why I Am Not A Painter

            A l l   C o n t e n t     ©2005-2021           E m i l i e  H a n s o n            e-mail             twitter                Minneapolis, MN               links & archives

            a pile of mostly raw and probably bad poetry

            on the internet
            in the hopes of creating something better

            This blog is not CLEAN and is not meant to be.
            Useful critique appreciated, i.e. specific comments and suggestions.

            You need not identify yourself unless you want to;
            comments will be judged on value, not the source. (Although knowing the source can be useful.)
            Unsupported heckling OR praise are not appreciated.

            Also, I vaguely apologize if you're my friend and you see yourself or others we know here.
            I am aware that that can be unsettling
            but that's the risk you run being friends with a writer. Also,
            maybe you're just being paranoid. Also,
            there is never a clear picture of reality

 

untitled

/* as discussed with caitlin, this poem is the equivalent of emilie going "la la la la la" with hands waving. also, complaining! yay! 
that said, this took a bitch of a long time to write. */

the stay-
puft marshmallow man is a cyclist
who will not answer your calls, will
climax when complete. you take a
shower; you wash off; you

find wide spaces
of time: for dancing, climbing, walking.
hours for the mindless viewing of television.

he doesn't know what he wants.
he wants to hurt you, but for you
to be unhurt.

the pillsbury dough boy
is irritated by everyone
and their disregard for his personal space.
at parties, he casually touches all the girls.
it's cool, he thinks. this is casual.
what is casual can be casual.


what he wants is never
to stop being on television.
what is casual can be causal.

the gingerbread man speaks your language,
is annoying as fuck. teases
like a toreador without his ADHD medication.

he says he wants to get married. he says he wants
children. he says he wants a new job, a foundation
for the things he wants. what he wants is to stop

fearing what he wants. you can't
catch him. he is half gone,
three-quarters gone,
gone. the fox is full. you

take a shower; you wash off; you
find


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