as i am
no painter,
i imagine it
to be like
laying paint.
maybe a coat
or two
can get you
the coverage
you seek,
but it is
through
repeated layerings
that nuance is
hewn.
is that a
mixing of
metaphors?
admiring the razor
straight lines,
at the edges
where ceiling
and wall meet,
i say,
“nice job
with the tape”,
thinking
one can only keep
splatter at bay
in this way.
“i did not
use any
tape, only
a steady hand”,
he replies.
i believe him
and i don’t.
my hands,
like my mind,
incapable
of that leveling
of focus.
i’ve applied
a few coats
now, both
to this page
and to my
late-Fall body.
words spatter without safety
of a good taping,
or crutch of
a steady mind.
wool piles atop
wool, hair
of an animal
to keep myself warm
in my animalism.
and little words,
each one tasked
with its tiny serving.
layering them
is the only way
i know how
to take
the round,
colorful,
world,
which somehow flattens
and mutes itself
inside of me,
and bring it back,
bring it back,
bring it back,
into all the shapes
it chooses to take.
zakschafer.com 