Thursday, March 15, 2012

Poem: Preparation


The plaster buckles, separated
from the lathe underneath, anything
but perfect. Holes pock the wall
like acne scars.

It is time to paint, but
the real work is not the painting,
but the tearing out,
the filling in, building

a foundation strong
and smooth, more work
than mere brushing, but
without it the paint

is worthless. 


The picture looks like a piece of modern art, but it is of a basement wall, damaged by water. 


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