if you're lucky

measured,
and cut
you smooth out
a sheet of wallpaper.
slowly
egging it
into place.
wet in
shadows, fluid
and slippery
in your hands
a limp fish,
tired from the fight,
it scales and wrinkles
still unsettled
with memory
of it's journey.
then the cuts,
down
and above
with a blade
and a straight
edge.
another sheet
goes up, then
another.
until the room
is complete
and you can go
home, to eat, to
sleep.
then start again
when morning comes,
if you're lucky.