reads like she was writing about me…

Posted on September 3, 2004


Gill was writing about herself and a few other members of her publishing house, but she could have been writing about me:

Never Trust A Poet

We have no clear boundaries,
wear our hearts on the outside,
protect them with irony;
absorb love through our pores,
obsessive osmosis.

We internalise,
exude you onto paper.
Even at our most passionate
our default is observe and record.

Our metaphor setting is too high,
we interconnect everything;
put 2+2 together to make a butterfly.
Leap intuitively from a-z,
ignoring every letter in between.

We scrutinise nuances,
suffer from hyperbole;
it’s the best of times
and the worst, simultaneously.

Our sense of wonder
overflows too easily.
We shouldn’t be allowed to drive,
especially near sunsets or mountains.

We don’t sleep at night,
scribble furiously at 3 am.
Don’t understand money.
Don’t do tedium.
When the telephone rings
we just look at it.
We can’t work.

——————— Gill Hands

Reprinted from “Internet_Love_Slut” by Gill Hands (Windemere,UK:, 2004).

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