Nobody likes the perfect. The Nazi in us
Wants to destroy it, take an ice-pick to it.
The bum note on the piano that I play
Makes all the rest seem sweeter.
It’s tone deaf. Maybe its good at maths.
In a sky of rain clouds,
Who hasn’t felt a lift, seeing a chink of blue?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem