skylight, elevator shaft

so here i am ,
thrown once again into the great american tune
of spam cans and 'now hiring' with water fountains
and i have secured my first four walls
with plaster as forgotten as I'll someday also be.

I've got months to go before i sleep
and windows to excavate, a bathroom to design
and, at my day job, the all important bald heads
of bell jars and cake cloches to polish.

my nights and days off have and will be spent
pulling sheetrock and scraping plaster from original brick
scraping paint from the paint on the plaster,
through the dust, the slatting and unattended tenant layers
the incongruent color tones of decades prior,
greens, blues and cold steel, cutting through
the muscle and the tendon, like forgotten things.

it may be a welcoming into a lifestyle
that necessitates that i eat chips
and salsa, each night, for dinner.
it may be an umbilical to get-rich-quick
it may be misanthropic yearnings
turned architectural, it may be
whatever the case,
come visit, and help me
hang new lighting

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