Long Lace Faces (an erasure poem)

We were asked, at We Write Poems (a Thursday poetry prompt) to use a snippet of Dorothy Miller's Richardson's "Pointed Roofs" and literally erase portions of text until we came up with our own, unique poem.

Ill write it out here, but seeing it in its original erasure form is also cool, and you can try the form for yourself. So here's my erasure intact:

http://www.wavepoetry.com/erasures/erasures.php?poemid=2445

And here's the poem. See other erasures at http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com

LONG LACE FACES
an Erasure, from Dorothy Miller Richardson's "Pointed Roofs"

high, plentiful long
lace faces--
collected sense of misery
lessons were dreadful experiences of
home
a little running
her own part swollen
her fingers
so weak
had
suddenly stiffened
at the end trembling.
dreadful movements. She heard nothing
till the end and as she stood up
she pushed angry way from the
clear red-hot mass of fire
green Chartreuse blue and cream.
stupid people made her play. How angry she had been
the forgotten guest she knew
poked all the girls
her heart trembling and burning eyes
thumping stiff
feelings faint
soundlessly until the thumping began again.
evenings, hoping afresh to be alone. But
she could not discover getting rid of
miserable nervous Mr. Strood
she did him credit, once
in a way that had thrilled her...
The tournament.

2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore (Sharp Little Pencil)

AFRODISIAC (alert: not for the prudish)

AFRODISIAC

Hey, it was lonely on the island
Living solo, slaving six nights slingin songs
My friend went stateside and brought me a present
Something Special
a vibrator – not just any vibrator, mind you
The biggest, fattest, most finely articulated, blackest dildo in creation
“He’ll keep you company,” she winked naughtily

That night, I tingled, mind wandering amid music
about the wonderous wanker wand
I named him Billy Preston (it was the 80s, mind you)
Billy was waiting for me
under my pillow
ready for our first close encounter

Finally home, just the two of us.
Billy, meet Betty (don’t ask)
Working our way into a complete union
Then I flipped on the switch
and screamed (but not in a good way)
Billy Preston had an impressive thermonuclear engine
Not a purr, nor a roar – something more excessive
like a jet revving before liftoff

I pulled out fast
(now, that’s weird for a girl to say)
and in my haste to extract the genital buzzsaw from my fertile forest
I flung it clear across the room
He landed in the wastebasket, still cruising at 120 mph
The basket overturned and Billy Preston was
“goin’ round in circles”
like a poodle on double espresso

Poor Betty still flinches when she recalls the trauma
Doc said you can’t treat a twat for PTSD, only VD
But she was gently cajoled and healed
by the real thing
eventually

© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil