“Listen”
Ticks the clock.
“I am perfect, pure, and patient.”
“Listen”
“And perfection, be on time.”

The clock
Is perfect.
It is simply the purest thing in this room of imperfects.
The broken frame on the wall,
That longs for a picture of a loving family or couple.
The fire pit,
Choked in smoke and charcoal.
The clock,
Perfect
Ticking into everlasting eternity, endless in the rhythm.
“Listen”
“And perfection, be on time.”

The door,
Leaning on two hinges,
Moans and opens.
The clock ticks on.
A woman walks inside,
And lay down in the middle of the rundown, ruined room.
That is perfect itself.
The clock ticks on.
“Listen to meeeeeee…”
The woman ignores.
“Listen to meeeeeee…I am perfect”
The woman ignores again, and looks around the room.
Admiring all of the imperfections.
The clock, out of anger, ticks furiously,
And falls.
“Listen” ticks the clock, for the last time.
“And perfection, be on time...I-I...I am perfect.”
Even those so perfect,
Can fall and break.
Even those so perfect
Should “Listen”
“And perfection, will be on time.”
The woman lay peacefully in this room of imperfection and broken pieces.
**And it is perfect.