by Samuel De Lemos
Salient aroma of wood chips
cracking under saw blades. Furiously hacking at ochre boards with router bits. Dust
flying like fairies landing on every pore of my anatomy.
Shaping planks into obscene drawings of mentally designated Shafts-running at one thousand RPM’s. Ripping, shredding and spewing out dust filled cups of bright
stagnant sunlight, sweat running down my back, down my mind and down my eyes! There’s no surprise, where I go I open my wood shop to pleasure stores-they’ll never know the blood in every drop of sanded smooth surfaces hand touched quietly by me.