If We Had a Nickel
You have to be speedy,
buy more time.
An eye acts as a barrier, an extra minute
to cling to dull benefit.
Repeat a stain,
intense architecture—it’s going to fall.
The day before is dry, down waves
and friction, between strays and static.
Drag your crown, intentional, covered
A mirror doesn’t contain your name—
a sheen tenfold with tweaks for definition.
Eyes need to fill in gaps, along the camera,
a blush emphatic with everything.
You put three tiny stitches where
you want to hide, mold the shape like a doll.
The mistake is plunging, above go-to art,
never a slip.
Don’t choose—you will be innocent,
in front of you, your face.
This is an erasure poem. Source material: “The Magic Carpet” by Alexandra Owens. Allure, September 2015, pages 125-127.
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