Today, I made a box. Nails and glue and care. The finest of each. My mark on the world.
(a poem by The Apartment Woodworker)
A Box (Poem)
Poems
Whirr (Alternate Version)
Things I have not.
Dull panel saws.
Table Saw.
Perhaps Related.
Slower, but at what cost?
A poem, by The Apartment Woodworker.
Whirr
Things I have not.
Even temper.
Table saw.
Perhaps related.
To Bleed
Some part of me goes into everything I make
Most days, I pour but a portion of my soul into the work of my hands
But sometimes, an arris or edge takes a literal part of me
A drop of blood to help the glue cure
Like a horcrux made of Eastern White Pine.
A poem, by The Apartment Woodworker
The Apartment Woodworker 