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
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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
zones
my skin feels temporal
shifts. now you're shifting
in your sleep, breathing
on my eyelids. zones are
ideas we are having,
which we will stop having
soon. time will be the space
between my toes
and your toes, your hair
and my breath
moving it. a small thing
which stretches. my skin
feels the inside of my skin
as though you have touched me;
you are touching me, or
you will be touching me
soon. covalent bonds will form
between our bodies
our bodies are just
where we are
which feels absolute
Archives
January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 August 2005 December 2005 January 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 July 2006 August 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 September 2007 June 2011 July 2011 October 2012 November 2012 December 2012 January 2013 February 2013 March 2013 April 2013 May 2013 June 2013 July 2013 September 2013 October 2013 November 2013 March 2014 April 2014 May 2014 June 2014 July 2014 August 2014 September 2014 October 2014 December 2014 March 2015 July 2017 August 2017 September 2017 October 2017 February 2021 December 2022
Links
adam.
elimae.
pastsimple.
