imperfection.

Imperfection might be the reflection of

Scintillating smooth ripples of butterflies

Melting warm on my tongue

Hot bullets shooting outward like a raging fire against

The roof of my mouth on every pressured breath

Maybe crying slippery crystal tears that fall, tinkling like

Small silver bells carried, jostling, in a quart berry basket

Maybe laughing wide because of the tricks yet to be played

Capers gone unnoticed amongst a fury of suspicion

Selling an unsuspecting hen a lottery ticket

...Faking an utterly perfect egg

...Advising a captured balloon to freedom

...Pretending that the tail isn't mine

...What tail?

Maybe rolling over sleepily on a bleary winter morning

Shrinking to the size of a pea wrapped in a cozy pod of down

Drowning in an intense apathy for fiercely brushing

My tooth with a thrice-sharpened axe of ancient toothbrush fame

Maybe dreading the future keeps me snuggled and afraid

Of the weary children slaving on Saturdays trapped

Beneath a hot, bright, noisily shining Sun that somehow

Is a little farther than over there

. ..A little longer than forever and a day

...A little faster than the raging wind

...A little more perfect than nothing

...And everything -

Is hanging in anticipation of the rain crashing down

Maybe sloshing against the wet and heavy air

Washing clean the scratchy thoughts and dust collections

Of imperfections from my hair