(an erasure poem)

This poem is
the sludge of
her pencil,

the long lost magic
of that gold paint


In April, we poem


Erasured from this poem from day 21:
Bare Bones

This poem is drawn
       (and quartered)

in charcoal smudge
and the sludge of
lily pad glee. Stretch

her inpencil-thin
lines, out-of-time
strings, the long lost
things at the bottom
of your artcase. Place

her cloud-shy in a
magicmarker sky,
and just try and tell
her she’s not quite
real. Feel

her flow, traced in
lace and grace and
the glow of that gold
-leaf moon. Swoon
to the smells and spells

of turpentine and oil
-paint, palette ready, brush
poised. Make some noise
as she steadies her outline,
pulls on skin, begins.








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1 Response to Bones

  1. qbit says:

    that gold paint

    OH yes!!

Use your words.

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