to lie covered

: to lie covered

There are images underneath that I tried at for so long.  I must have laid down
eight different layers
of white paint
boxes, washes.
with a scrape
the recession started.
my nail ran through:
a wiry edge.
I tried at these boxes, at pasty, white washes.  So long;
for one scraping nail
became one scraping palette knife
became one hand scraping
some threads run raw.

Undone was my trying and
under work, the remnant
of white in rows.

Paint skins took hours,
But undone, face cropped,
pale blue is unclouding each once-heavied box.


Now isn’t it fitting?  Isn’t it real?  This lengthy trying and meticulous applying of layers.  This timid to rapid to reckless peeling of what has barely dried.  This breezy freedom before the bones take to shivering.  This–that comes next, too soon and too often: temptation toward


Regret, which prods the core.

Regret, which turns the pride of baring into

     the condition of being gaped.

So it goes:

paint skins take ours.
And redone, face propped:
is comfort covering each once-emptied box.

Clothed                                                     Painted
[regretful of openness][re-piled like a pastime]
Is it not fitting?                                Is it not real?