Monday, June 22, 2009


So, I resolved to have a workbench in the kitchen. Like most things, these lovely pieces of furniture can be found on craigslist.

It fit in the van:

Alas, it did not fit through the front door...until I took the top off. Of course, after that it wouldn't fit through the kitchen door, and it's too old to take apart and put back together functionally.

So, there's a work bench outside my apartment now:

These things happen. I wanted a bench, found one cheap, and got too excited to take proper measurements, regardless of the 25' Stanley tape measures I keep in my kitchen and car.

I equate this to poetry in that it's a matter of intention. If the goal is simply to have something (a bench, a publication) then it is the wrong motivation, and will not work. If the intent is for a higher purpose (to have a functional bench/to create a quality poem that will or will not get published) requires more care and work. Some skills in spacial relations.

Horrible metaphor, I know. But now I have a surface to eat on outside my house...until it gets stolen. Plus there were a grip of craftsman tools in the drawers, and a vice on top, which is worth at least the $25. And the learning experience, as usual, is priceless.


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