Poetry post turns herb garden.

One bike adventure to The Rebuilding Center on Mississippi, one cutting of plexiglass, one afternoon of nail foraging(have you ever looked down to see how many screws are just lying around?), one evening carrying two, two-by-fours from Steve and Larry's house(two men I randomly asked for wood seven blocks from home, yes Steve and Larry, yes, I said wood), one bloody thumb, gorilla glue, building blocks, one tired arm o sawing, many un straight lines, one hot mess, one loss of vision and by vision I mean simplicity, and one week later I finished and aborted a poetry box all at once.

 

 I can build pretty much anything at this point...

  My visions were lofty, execution: poor.

  

 

Table saw and half a brain more next go round.

 

 But.. it evolved into this... poems, not to be contained, but plucked up with the pineapple sage or a sprig of mint or some free lemon thyme. I suppose the block I started with held a good idea all along.  And while I thought I might become Barb the Builder, I will not be assembling the next ark anytime soon... But I might like another go at it... Plumbean Book Exchange?!
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