a thing we kind of want to experiment with is the idea of writing a poem but then discarding large parts of it and only leaving fragments, with missing pieces in between them- sapphocising it?

and the mirror
not her waking,
aching body showed,
but endless forms,
from feathered fractal
edges spilling out
a snowstorm
swirling silent
in her eyes
a thing we kind of want to experiment with is the idea of writing a poem but then discarding large parts of it and only leaving fragments, with missing pieces in between them- sapphocising it?
a probably-irrational worry that circles in our mind is that this is somehow profane: hubristic to simulate the ravages of history on our own meager poetry
but already we embrace the fragmentary in poetry
the single word, the disjunct phrase devoid of context, poetry started in a middle of a sentence