Grateful More for the Crooked and the Cracked
a poem about pushing back against perfection
One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Seventeen.
Glory be for
Give thanks for
the bumps, the kinks, the bruises,
crevasses and chipped china.
enough to let the light in —
shattered enough for it to shine through.
The imperfect dips and dugouts
where the liquid of life pools
no natural rules
inhuman and hollow.
No. It’s the places that rebel.
Regions that refuse to be perfected.
Nations that make war on gentrifications
or at least turn away all envoys.
The real places
real life enjoys
They are not exactly hiding —
though they are harder to find,
look at the curve of our mountain ranges
look at the lines of our time-made rivers from above
look at the absolute irrationality of love.
Look at life
before longitudes and latitudes
Look at earth
with an adolescent attitude.
Imagine the hell of a well
Look, the loving less minimal mindset, I more than understand
but even me, with a one-color closet, can see
that out where it’s wild,
uniformity is more deformity
than the triumph of man.
Thank god for the not yet
Look at an artist’s hands.