One time I tried to write the perfect poem. I went about it by taking a sheet of paper and then, using an X-acto knife, cut out the word "poem" in big letters. What was leftover was a big space in the shape of "poem" and it constantly changed based on what was on the other side of the paper, so it was never finished and in a way, perfect. It was like the 4'33" of poems, if you could count 4'33" as being perfect (I think it is, or at least, most perfectly embodies the idea of perfection).
So the perfect poem would be one that wasn't finished. Just like the "perfect" Saturday night is the one that hasn't started, because it could be perfect, you know? As soon as you write a word, as soon as a single note is played, as soon as you try to translate whatever's in your head to an expressible form, you've already compromised and you've already marred. The perfect poem would have no words.
My poem idea was either really dumb or really clever. It's always a fine line between those two.
Last edited by Orwn Acra; 10-05-2009 at 11:13 AM.
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