PERFECTION LANE

08 22 11

Not in solitude's endgame of straight A's
or in the presaging prick of virgin vinyl
is the sole party of perfection in the humanized
compendium of fact to be found
It hides in the blank dimensional humility
of paper squares on a calender
pre-invasion by physician-code errands
Paper squares aging and bitter and
poised to take perfection with them on the
torture-water dripping highway of obsolescence
hitching till the yellow ghosts
of miniature time-bomb plastic
pulls over on the way to the library
to compare souvenirs and condemn
a future free of glitches and handwriting
and too late for greenery to be embroidered
(even fashionably) in ceremony
for its bully-babysat patience in the ages