Woodsman; Paul Bunyan

sketches

ta-da!

if you can't read the poem, here it is.

His flannel shirt

Hangs on a hook

Near the door

His axe leans

Against the wall

Under the plague acknowledge

Forty-five years

Of loyal service

He's bored most of the time now

His arms still thick

But growing

As soft as his belly

Sometimes, waking

From afternoon naps,

Thinking it's morning,

He will lace up his

Big logging boots

Call for blue

And be halfway out the door

Before reality

Washes over him

Like northwestern fog

Then, looking

At the empty barn

He takes axe

From shoulder

Closes door

Unlaces boots

did this project for my IL class. still hanging in that class and learning shit.

MORE TO COME SOON.