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
playing many roles: husband, father,
captain. There had been war, and since
he’d made a fool of the one-eyed
son of Poseidon, he’d been lost at sea.
It must be tough, being tied
to the mast of a ship, listening
to Siren’s calls, guiding
wax-eared men. It must be tough,
being lost: lover for years
to a beautiful nymph-- what
torture! Every moment, I’m sure,
wanting to come
home to me. It’s not as though
I enjoy being hostess to a house
of men; blue-balling dozens
with swift wrist movements,
undoing threads. This piece I’m working on
will never be done. It has been hard,
waiting for my husband’s body
to show up in Ithaca. But
when this stranger appeared, old,
and knew the secrets of our bed
which he had built, I let him
take me
Labels: ariel's writing group
your best friend says he doesn't see you
as a sidekick. you're taking another quiz
about relationships or movie characters.
the author you newly admire is sick
of manic pixie dream girls. quirk.
your boyfriend loves you. recently
you've stopped worrying about
the near future but are unprepared
for anyone to die. that picture of the cosmos
looks like a man's face.
eventually, the first lady will stop
being defined by gender. you're taking a test.
it involves time, the Internet and life.
Juliet and the Rose.
Eve and the Dodo
he thought was a wildcat.
Their names. She takes
the work off his hands.
We believe in incantations.
We learn languages
so we don't have to read
translations. The field
of librarians is full
of women yearning
for classification.
There is something stable
about denotation. It's clear,
the relationship
between call numbers. We love
to fuss over opinions stated
by subject headings, authority
records. There is importance
in documentation, of provenance.
is it wrong
the way I think
"everything" is
temporal; breath
as a means towards
decay. our love
can be as old as
our bodies, maybe
language. but what
proper document
can there be when
in your arms
there is always
an alarm
waiting
would I prefer
perpetual butterflies, or
the end of the curb
where the snow turns
to slush which freezes
and in the morning sun
the underlayer thaws
and evaporates, leaving
a thin and empty veil
of paper-thin ice lace
for my ears to hear,
my foot to feel
the satisfying smash
of winter's end?
there's a fault
line there in the ice
and you're putting all
my weight on it
it's the good that lets you be
the advertisement of government
enhancement. it's the good
that you enhance; it just looks
like the body. it was always in you.
someone had to see it.
made you Jesus, made you
defend.
you were constructed
of nostalgia, the idea that
it was better in the past.
people were wholesome
and ate white bread.
you wore the flag instead
of a mask. you were a symbol
of honest government;
honest America, you were a
symbol, and symbols are used.
Labels: marvel
humans imagine lovers
like food: taken
into our bodies
we could know
every molecular strain,
put the nutrients in
our muscles, the fat
on our thighs, but
there is too much
of you to feed continents! you are
a planet of resources
and indigenous peoples,
books on the culture
of your brain and biology
could fill libraries,
could fill my brain
and still overflow the shores
of my countries like a
high tide or tsunami-- there is
no way, even if I ate the moon
that I could consume
the depth of you.
sometimes we talk about
what it would be like
if I came to orgasm
I think it might be
like being God
like looking into
the Time Vortex,
like kissing you
is like kissing
a man who is more than
human, like wielding
ultimate power
| difficult tasks + time | = | less + difficult tasks |
| -difficult tasks | -difficult tasks |
time = less
time = money
less = money
I should stop adding to my amazon wish list.
| anxiety + medication | = | less + anxiety |
| - anxiety | - anxiety |
medication = less
less = time
less = money
medication = time
medication = money
I'd love for everyone to stop complaining about Obamacare.
I would have moved to Canada gladly.
| problems + money | = | temporary - problems |
| - problems | - problems | |
| money | = | temporary - problems - problems |
I should start adding to my amazon wish list.
not knowing how to reply, the brief
illustration of what would make me
paranoid is do I think
the people in the waiting
room are talking
about me? and no, of course not
I say but if I knew them
well then, of course.
in the classroom, for instance
all the students hate me
for having loud inarticulate
meandering opinions. not knowing
if this is paranoid I call
Sonja. Sonja, I say, I'm so
happy we've never shared
that kind of intellectual
space; you might hate my guts
and why are streetlamps
constantly extinguishing
as I pass them? she laughs
there is in the blood
what makes the pads
of your fingers red, playing
on the extensors
on the flexors
hiding under my skin
there is breathing
when I have been emotional
and as such, interrupting
what could have been
easy and life-giving.
it is yours, I feel it
filling space between our bodies
which you've already tightened
in your arms I feel
what sends our blood
to extremities, my brain
beside your brain can slow
time. these cells
are temporary; I can't help
but stare at our wounds
as they change
our bodies, the iron
taste, full of life
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Links
adam.
elimae.
pastsimple.