Don’t pick up the pieces, put them back together,
then tell me, Hey, look, it’s as good as new, all right?
And seriously, you know with Kintsugi,
the hocus-pocus illusion of conning yourself
that piecing broken pottery back together,
with gold, signifies an embrace of imperfection?
I could never fool myself that way, wrap myself
in the weighted blanket of some casuistic notion
that reconnecting all those jagged fragments
is as good as assuring me all my flaws
are something I’ve now got my attitude right with,
that mistakes I’ve made are now bunny-love cuddly.
Gold? Yeah right.
If I had that much gold lying about
I’d rather console myself scooching around luxury’s lap.
For all the imperfections on my head,
I’d be prospecting in them thar hills
until the cows were home snoozing in the wee hours,
just about to yawn and stretch before going out again.
No, for poor me, it would have to be a barrel of super glue, on sale.
And after giving that repair the old college try, if it doesn’t do the trick,
it’s time to bin the wreckage for an easy two
and let the trash canoodle all comfy with my deficiencies.
If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?
But if it is broke, better get ready for the jolt
that you might have to toss it and live
with your defective, unglueable self.
* * *
Listen to “Broken Is Broken”
Lanning Lee 