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Olivia Chaney
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Imperfections
Crying on a plane to New York, New York
No permit to work nor play,
Green card, did you get a green card?
It's only a short stay -
Traveling alone fans flames,
Smokeless, smouldering,
I depart without declaration
Almost feeing I could become someone,
Except for the hem of my skirt's undone,
Achilles heel, clumsy hole,
Somebody stop me baring my soul
Guilt-ridden, provoking,
One part my mother with the favour-prompting,
Stranger prodding to see how things feel,
Just out of sight
I'm perfecting imperfection
That's what I tell myself
I tell myself
There is no-body else
Steward's a sleaze, lives in Queens
Aims to please, to meet his kind of girl,
See the world, travel by token air-fares
Now I lie on a gay friend's sofa,
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Shakespeare's cuckold throws a blanket over
My many Manhattans, tourist whims,
Meat-packing district, my Chelsea mourning
He takes us out for hard-boiled eggs,
Salt-beef bagel, oh he's got good legs
But the whiskey comes up, the rain pours down,
No real cure in this grid-locked town
I'm perfecting imperfection
That's what I tell myself
I tell myself
There is no-body else
Perfecting imperfection
That's what I'll tell them when
The flights are flown, the men are all kissed,
When there's nowhere left to yearn
Still I feel a shell breaking,
Not sure whose, sure I'm not faking
When was my Lord so ungently tempered,
Stopped his ears with my lack of repentance
Lack of repentance,
Repentance.
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