Beauty is Imperfection

You have to have a lot going on
You have to keep yourself busy
You have to stir things relentlessly
While you tear the focaccia
Like a banal half sentence
From your mouth

You drink inertia,
When the light hits your inertia in a glass
It makes a dark red wine stain
On the white tablecloth

You have to do something with idle hands
You have to crank a pasta maker
As if you were Penelope making a shroud
And your virtue
Is the pasta getting squeezed out
And somebody else can eat it
Cause only other people enjoy
Eating your virtue.

You married a boob. You know that now.

You have to let the sun hit your face.
You have to eat the Vitamin D,
You and the accidental child

You married a boob,
And the green sun slipped behind the building
At dusk in June
Embarrassed for you both

You have to keep many irons in the fire
Cause you might cheat or gamble

The minutes of the day
can seem so long

Much more than your heart can stand

You might have an oven full of prayers
But you can’t quench desire
You have thirst to do wrong

Time, when I stir you into my heart:
You make fire

You have to have a lot going on
You have to wear an aqua lung
Just to breathe real air sometimes

Time to study the fluid mechanics of time
And try hard to be able
To not see
Where you began