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
on deconstructing distance while you are "away" with reference to time, insulation, and the female mind
my mind i feel your hands
on my hips somewhere
(between emma frost, who could care
less if
i want her, and
buffy summers, who is present
but invisible, uses invisibility
to free her body)
your hands are warm but colder
than the air under blankets
and blankets and blankets i have
covering me as though the weight
of them could cover me your hands on
my hips feel in many places
here the light is
young and where you are
the light is younger
in my mind i am in your mind
and these bodies are but
they are also transparent
it is winter i can feel it
when i breathe it is summer
or spring all of the world is coming
to life while we laugh
believing and unbelieving
the ways we have to touch each other
we talk about buffy
in summation: don't have sex
with someone you want to have sex
with, someone who wants to have sex
with you. maybe it means something
to someone, and it means sex
to someone else. something amazing
is going to happen, and then someone
will flatten under another someone's
body. the body is not just the body
to someone. the body is a representation.
sex is not sex to someone, it is a shared
space. the space is internal. the space
fills the universe. the space joins
everything living. the space is god
when god does not. the space is where the soul
goes. and sex is not for filling empty spaces
Labels: whedon
Archives
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Links
adam.
elimae.
pastsimple.
