A Lunatic Hit by a Car

In the pool of blood lies the Finger—decapitated and snatched From its owner’s hand. Whose finger was that? Every one knew nothing of the man; Every one knows something of the man. Lonely and singular finger was thumb; The nail of whose has been uprooted And now there a fly flies Shading its hazed shadow…

To Sylvia…

My first attempt on Erasure Poem. Feel free to comment and point out any mistakes.