Ok so a here’s a new post, man. This is a poem I wrote while I’m here in Melbourne. Oh yah, didn’t you know? I’ve been here for three weeks and I’ll be back to Perth on the 12th. This one is dedicated to my current girlfriend, who has now become part of an extensive list of women. I just collect broken hearts like someone might collect photos of dead animals or failed auditions.
Anyway it started out as a description of her and I started playing with a more general topic of reality and art. The final line is supposed to be an oxymoron and represents the acceptance of imperfection, in this case related back to my relationship. There is no such thing as imperfect.
Enjoy.
Where I Call Home
Frangipani smile.
Bloodswept cheeks,
Lustful teeth.
Swollen lashes.
Forgetful hands and
Vinyl eyes.
Darkened oak,
Honeyed strum,
Tumbling wine.
Aging rivers.
Piercing lips and
Breaking kiss.
Closing wounds.
Static bliss and
Imperfect frequencies.
