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Rough-Hewn Furniture

Saint Paul, 10 October 2006

For a time
I build furniture
of rough-hewn limbs

A glueless joinery
insists nature should
grace my quarters

Wood from the weald
dries and checks in a half moon
to complete its artistry

Soon hungry spiders
swallow feckless fliers
beneath the willow rocker

When the freeze comes
I bedeck the furniture
in white flannel sheets

Upon my departure
I lob in wad of flaming drapes
and bolt the door