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the esoteric syncopation of daily tasks
I’m an old school hammer guy, unlike
the nail gun boys, who know nothing
of swinging the arc of intention into the howl
of connection. Who know nothing
of the soft strike that sets the nail, followed
by the double drop of the hammer pulling
the plates tight, the sinkers bulled deep,
studs framed up and holding true.
The pendulum of my right arm, swinging
triplets, my heartbeat
a pulse of esoteric syncopation.


Published in Workers Write!

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