Born perfect, dying perfectly and the life between somehow forsaking those poles of perfection. |
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Random Radio NoiseI have this thing about our beingperfectly constructed A flawless wonderment delivered without self-doubt and running smooth as a Timex at the moment of our birth And then it all begins, this de-construction we call growing up, as in stop crying and grow up we somehow take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’ But back to the original premise and I know you love it when I use words like premise in poetry But stay with me anyway and let’s see if we can fix her up and drive this baby home Our brains run on electric currents we’ve found that out All those electrons floating and when one considers the consequence of that it brings a whole new meaning to unplugged But that’s another issue and what we’re talkin’ about here is perfection and what happens to it and if we can get it back 'Cause maybe it’s a truth worth knowing that it’s been there all the time Covered, I propose by static Those random radio noises caused by periodic sun spots or nervous mothers guys at work and the endless expectation of everyone expecting It’s all too much for speeding, perfect neurons For electrons on a path unflawed and seamless This wobble, this stagger this bulge in the loop that no one asked for And maybe, just maybe that’s what death is all about A slowing down of all that electric energy Spinning off the clinging imperfections until our light goes out perfectly, once more |
 This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection BROKEN PIECES available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats. |
