When I see the half-moon, I want to slide
the dark away with my finger like how I broke
my father's camera by placing my finger on the lens
and forcing those shutter eyelids blindly open. Slide
and click, shutter open, to reveal such a solemn blank
face. I saw my reflection, waxy, smooth and irritating as fog
on a winter windshield, and I broke my nail on the image
of my face, and so I dragged my thumb to make it disappear.
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I love this until the last line, at which point I stop understanding what's physically going on... after breaking your nail, how does your thumb make your face disappear. Quite possibly I'm just being stupid, all this imagery sort of speaks for itself.
ReplyDeletei agree. i wasn't sure of that last part either and after rereading it i think its rhythm is off too.
ReplyDeleteagreement. last line's gotta go. i'm also gonna question 'blindly open' because... yeah, i think it's too short of a poem to sneak in a phrase like that.
ReplyDeletei'd be interested to see this as a single sentence. great stuff though.