Poem: Hard Work and Mess

Hard Work and Mess

The places things are made
are rarely pristine.
There is dust and scaps and here and there
blood and tears.
It’s part of the work. Part of the art.
Part of reality, even for the most beautiful,
and certainly, oh yes most certainly,
for the rest of us.

About this poem

About making things. About making lives. Poetry rarely has one meaning.

Tom

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