Nothing is perfect,
but I had a compulsive taste for the idea of being quite so---
Everything we had to say to each other was hollowed out inside,
the way that we intended it to be
Calling this a tug of war would be everything, including cliche,
and incorrect--
because there is no f involved
It was the fact that I disliked you that meant I liked you all the more---
and in that way, we were quite juvenile,
and I needed an IV's worth of change every so often,
too often, perhaps,
juvenile, but certainly not perfect---
I couldn't quite figure,
quite do the math,
on why it took me so long to see that perfection was merely
predictability
Not a huge fan of this piece. It feels a lot like some of your earlier work. I feel like you've grown beyond this topic of talking directly to the reader in an accusatory manner. The piece feels more like a diatribe than a poem, which may be the point. But regardless, the enrichment this one provides doesn't compare to some of your better, more recent work. And although I don't know the meaning of this stanza, I find it intriguing:
ReplyDeleteCalling this a tug of war would be everything, including cliche,
and incorrect--
because there is no f involved