Thursday, November 22, 2012

In search of prefection

I keep expecting Spock
To step into my life
The narrative squeaking
Out of a television speaker
Life as hippie, hermit, writer
Listed in the order of their occurrence
The flaws of character
Made obvious by the screen
The craze of million of witnesses
To the demise of a man,
The embarrassment of wasted talent,
Years and years
Of looking for the key
That fits only me,
Flaws waiting as in California
For the proper seismographic catastrophe
To see me free
From this need of importance
To live life without identity,
Or worth
Or perfection.

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