Exercise:
The Palmolive nectar hums down throats
as the oily dispersion fondles swamp waters.
The cinder block bark coating
the ball goal knows where the puss
filled claws live.
Signaling hate from the pissy woods
the primordial klan dusts the tables
knowing it never goes away.
The children near the port-a potty
stop the choking motors with cotton candy.
Meaning to lose themselves in the laughing
liquid and algae, the yellow jackets suck for
salvation.
Exercise 2: Expansion
The green Palmolive liquid encircles the sink with greasy lemons and plastic gloves.
The humming drains the dinner to China and further as it swirls and leaves us all clean.
Yet, the swamps, sitting silently, never knew clean. Covered in goop, wanting to be ignored, the
green grows without shame or Clorox.
The gray and green of the ashen bark crumbles like a cinder-block. Heavy as it is, it acts as plates and homes for snakes. Small, disease filled rodents scratch the bark to reveal the buffet of worms and death. Towering ball goals, nets filled with leaves, learn on the trees? The trees, becoming the goal grow like old man legs needing a cane.
The woods smell of piss and Coors and hate. The learning trees cover the sins of the past and give shelter to the haters of now. The dust of our history fills our lungs and clouds our vision as we try to climb out, to move on, to get a life. But, all we are left with are cliches and niceties. "How ya doing?" "Fine, and you?".
The purple and pink fluff of sweaty cotton candy sticks to the hair of the little girl wearing Hannah Montana boots--covered in glitter. The pinkness never goes away but is covered with the smells of the port-a-potty. Moving from place to place. Does it take the excrement with it? Or does it leave it for someone else?
this is an amazing draft for some creative erasure. Dr. Davidson did this with a poem of mine recently so I thought I would pay it forward.
ReplyDeleteUse anything, they are you words, or try combining my erasure with your own new ideas.
The green sink circles with greasy lemons and plastic.
Drains hum the dinner song of China, and swirling leaves us clean.
Swamps never knew clean, yet the
green grows without bleached shame.
Gray ashen bark crumbles like a cinder-block. as snakes and disease filled rodents scratch
revealing the buffet of worms.
Netted leaves, lean on the trees knotted like an old man's cane crusted legs.
Woods smell of piss, Coors-- hate.
Cover the sins of the past and give shelter to the haters of now. The dust of our history fills our lungs and clouds our vision as we try to climb out, to move on, to get a life. But, all we are left with are cliches and niceties. "How ya doing?" "Fine, and you?".
The purple and pink fluff of sweaty cotton candy sticks to the hair of the little girl wearing Hannah Montana boots--covered in glitter. The pinkness never goes away but is covered with the smells of the port-a-potty. Moving from place to place. Does it take the excrement with it? Or does it leave it for someone else?