i got over my

fear of our

interior walls.

it wasn’t so much

the walls that i feared,

but creating holes

in them.

i used to imagine

using that tiny hammer

with the blue handle

to pound a nail in,

a vitiated strike,

the plaster crumbling,

a hole created,

the lath exposed.

it happened once,

months after that fear disappeared.

and when it did

my shoulders sunk,

my eyes fixed on

the floor now white

with crumbled

plaster, the nail

i tried not to miss,

nowhere to be found.

sometimes i’m incapable of some of

the most basic things.


if i’m being honest,

it’s often.

now on the floor,

looking up at the hole,

i tried to figure out

how to fix it.

i could do what

i always do.

but that seemed

so artless.

soon, the

solution was obvious.

back on my feet,

the imperfection now imperceptible,

covered by a memory

now back on the floor,

my shoulder blades against

the wall,

my mind at ease,

i thought about the

formation of wallpaper.


eternal life.

(both are drawings, black ink on paper).

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