Love Song: I and Thou

Nothing is plumb, level, or square:
  the studs are bowed, the joists
are shaky by nature, no piece fits
  any other piece without a gap
or pinch, and bent nails
  dance all over the surfacing
like maggots. By Christ
  I am no carpenter. I built
the roof for myself, the walls
  for myself, the floors
for myself, and got
  hung up in it myself. I
danced with a purple thumb
  at this house-warming, drunk
with my prime whiskey: rage.
  Oh I spat rage’s nails
into the frame-up of my work:
  it held. It settled plumb,
level, solid, square and true
  for that great moment. Then
it screamed and went on through,
  skewing as wrong the other way.
God damned it. This is hell,
  but I planned it. I sawed it,
I nailed it, and I
  will live in it until it kills me.
I can nail my left palm
  to the left-hand crosspiece but
I can’t do everything myself.
  I need a hand to nail the right,
a help, a love, a you, a wife.