The high sweep of faces
scattered when collected
like nervous remunerations
before the very first time--
little swollen spaces
fingers stiffened
like sticks, trembling
hands hard and angry.
Always red hot,
full and forgotten
she poked all girls
with fear and burning
eyes which soundlessly began
winter, hoping to reproduce
in a way that thrilled
the air back
from the day before.
P.S. This is an erasure poem I crafted via this web page which lets you create right there; if you're ever bored or in the mood, it's kinda fun--a no-pressure cool way to create a poem that might surprise you! Anyway, the page I am talking about is this one and the public link to my poem is here; click "view source text" (Pointed Roofs) to see the original source. I whittled it down from 534 words to just 64.
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