Unlike Persian carpets I
have many fatal flaws of which none are
deliberate. I wonder why
you haven’t noticed them. Do they not mar
the image I want you to buy?
Do you believe perfection is a bar
to pleasure? When I versify,
do you get pleasure when you see how far-
fetched are the thoughts I love to tie?
A cigar may not be a cigar,
but faults I have in large supply
are aspects of me that are far more noir
than white threads on which you rely
when reading like a rug my repertoire.
Inspired when I realized that although I often use the metaphor of the deliberate flaw in an oriental carpet I had no poems about such flaws in my collection of poems.
1/4/10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem