Accidental Imperfection

look around you
new expanded and enhanced editions
self-made and superficial
perfections all broken and stuck
with weathered glue;
weakest or strongest at the crack,
scars reassemble you;
can you face the mirror?
what stares back at you,
is a decipher
of paint and varnish on bare wood;
the more you put on
the less you breathe
but the more you can come eye-to-eye
with the human
that makes you and breaks you;
layers of mythology, habit, and convention
always seeking redemption,
fucked over by father figures
imprisoned by our mothers
we are a cage of genes and time
a firework exploding once in a lifetime
blink-and-you'll-miss-it parade;
children are never afraid
until fear is fraught from brain
and taught to train our actions;
magic circles within a square
or nightmares we believe
of things that are really not there;
we are the vomit of the universe,
the cosmos sneezed
and there we were;
imitation, artificial, illusionistic;
living randomly, impersonal, hedonistic;
beauty, horror, surprise, chaos, order --
just lists and lists of words
no meaning or not enough to bother,
we are a scream across the sky
or poke in the eye;
we just lie down and die
or refuse to lie down with a lie;
we barricade the soul in
cross-fades to delicate acoustic arpeggios,
we are a darkness
every light foreshadows;
we are the dirt inbetween
the earth's toes; rotten, sunken
and stinking in sweet meditation
as we break every bird's wing
and feed on its devastation:
we are a primal appetite;
our psychic absences are just blips
on electrical impulses
which we will never fully understand
because understanding gets in our way --
and a million other ironies like that
which block the way
and we consummate in scream
and roaring fire
and the meandering, impulsive leaps
of intuition that brought us to the wire;
barbed walls built higher
in the mind; the precise moment of fear
is when bodies catch fire,
torn and turned and skewered,
blood turns to black ink injured
and the putrid presence of burning fat;
we are nothing new
and this is the conundrum:
we move until the thrust gives out,
not much left but dying momentum

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