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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

 

revision: on seeing everything clearly when everything is us

it is fullness / the future / your knowing
separate / the same / as my knowing
information is not / the same / as knowledge
it is interesting to us / that
one does not / always / derive from the other.

it is time that you realized / we hail
from / the same / place / all places
are / the same / place. it is time

to heed these whisperings / knowings
the world is / speaking / in a very loud
voice which is / the same / as refrigerator
hum and cricket chirps / as whistles
of air / through your nose / as you are

sleeping. it is true you are more conscious
when / you are un-self / conscious

we are part / knowing / the world and
also all / all / all / the whole of it
this breathing is breathing / in stars
the future / your knowing is / the same

as my knowing / inside and outside
our bodies are / tree limbs
and skyscrapers / organic and made
by man / our ambitions / do not all derive

from each other / but
there is rustling / in / our leaves
and our bloodstream / it is you and i
who are making / the world / shake


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