it seems equally piercing
and impressive,
the mind
is concurrently
dull and elusive. It works less
like a diamond
than a bolt
of jagged coal—or maybe
less a rock
in general than some livid
rusty nail
hammered
to right angles
by the reoccurring thought
that not only is it
all too true that
nobody is perfect, but it's
also a murky
yet terrible fact that nobody's
exact.
