Somehow            past nine o’clock
          a half moon        stood
               in the parking lot
                     at the mall.

Wishing stars         drove
            three blocks    in
                  utter silence,
      a fury        of weeping
          the force       a bitter flood.

Like a rotted tooth,
                                     it went deeper.

This is an erasure poem. Source: King, Stephen. Christine. New York: Signet, 1983. 55. Print.