If I write the perfect poem <br />then my creation <br />mocks me <br />because it is perfect <br />and I know I am not. <br />The imperfect poem <br />is better for me <br />yet perfection <br />haunts <br />and I continue to strive <br />for its outlines <br />even as I concede <br />imperfection's continence <br />is more like me. <br />It may be I have to concede <br />that I and all of us are perfect <br />as we are inside <br />but once perfection moves outside my skin <br />the world taints it <br />with its imperfections <br />and I have to take the blame.<br /><br />Lonnie Hicks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/perfect-blame/
