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