John Anderson Poet Tanka

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The Contraire Touche Affair

It's never finished—
endless need for dab or daub
with ink, paint, still wet
pen and brush, quiver and quake
aching for last touché touch. 

Mind waits, contemplates—
sees the flaws, fizz, flaunt, and seethe,
edges come undone,
making more space to be filled,
with more touché there instilled.

Smooth will not lie smooth,
each move runs against the grain
tremors spill lava,
each correction answers back—
it's never enough—touché.

Obsession obstructs
the path towards completion,
becomes a minefield
of bits missing in action,
cowardly in dissension.

There's fingerprint smears
on every surface, shined clean
to show perfection—
obsession won't rest until
each shine shows more hidden rust.

At last, the step back—
but the work clings on, and on,
it won't—can't let go
obsessed with never-ending
contraire touché affair.

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