A First Poem of Mid Level Profundity

Even though I desire to accompany this poem with an explanation, I won't. I want this poem to stand on it's own. An artist doesn't travel around with his paintings in order to explain them. Good art should speak on its own, and that is what I aspire to create, so here is an attempt.

Aesthetic Distance and Invasive Camera Angles

We lined up to carve our marks in the tender bark of her

Soul tree. If her soul is a tree. At first I thought it was like me:

Cold, hard, shiny and stain resistant like steel.

I wonder if I should feel bad now that I know it wasn’t;

That I wrecked it the first time I shouldered past all the “hers”

Except the one who was only a collection of soft, pleasing curves.