of day, stripping wallpaper.
shearing it like
the dead
skin of fish,
scraping it
off old walls
in tiny shreds, no longer
than an inch
at a time,
the water rolls down my sleeves,
my pants soaked
my shoes
sliding
in the soft paste
removed.
my arms reach above me,
below.
behind the ice box,
the electric stove.
i change another blade,
and go up
the ladder.
eight hours go by like
minutes.
i hardly noticed
that the sun
has receded outside
the window.
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