these walls are weeping

bleeding wide rivers of tar

hidden beneath waxen weathered paint

how the steam of thick moisture reveals

what’s buried in layers

escapes such furtive eyes

at first glance

will rise

like cream from the belly of

a stagnant pool

assaulting my vision

an affront to good taste

brown strands

cascading in desperation

for an ounce of

recognition

perhaps they’ll continue

running

raining thick noxious vapors

tracing down whitewashed walls

til it floods and

sucks us ‘neath

no matter how much

nor how long

you go on scrubbing

there’s always something

a little deeper