Is this silly lie what I want?
Is it better than nothing?
I had myself convinced it is.

But I can't help but wonder
Because we are faking it
Between fiction an reality we hang

Could reality be better?
Can I manage the words?
Can you hear them?

You are my biggest supporter
my hardest critic.
If I write something, I ask you to read it.
You say it's good, then that's true
but if it's bad, you are right.
Unfortunately, you only get second-rate poems
Because the best that I write
are not for your eyes.
I value you too much to lose you.
Because if you read them,
         I would.

So, I lied.
That sums it up
Why? you ask.  When?
Let’s start with when.
It was last Sunday
When we were in the park
It was cold, raining, and dark,
a Maine January thaw
I liked our talk,
said I could tell you anything.

Wait.
That’s two lies

I said that we wouldn’t be
good together at all.
I thought, I think
the exact opposite.
That makes the second lie

Let me explain.
I didn’t want to interfere
If I said the truth
There would be two outcomes

One, you don’t love me

Two, you do.
I know that doesn’t sound too bad
but I would be forcing you
to make your decision.
Loving me makes you straight
And, frankly, I don’t think you are.
So, I lied.

I

i am so much smaller than you
and i can ever
                            believe...
and you are so much smaller
than you and
i know.

i sit within the winds,
those summer breezes,
some gusty gales, perhaps,
feeling
'the tug
               and toss
of its fabulous force
     rippling
     churning
combing the thinning grey hair on my tired head,
my clothing,
                          so indistinct,
flapping,
                  furling,
floating, --filled with this seen-un-seen presence,
     and i know

a am so small,
and my life so
ludicrous,
like the air
that comes
                      and goes
out of its own control,
but,
                                               i am too small,
and unable
to stop this, its invisible assault.

II


when i am a-float upon
the great lakes, the oceans
the
      rolling
                    rivers
i live
like a tiny slab of flotsam or
     driftwood
sailing
             slowly,
circularly,
(oh-so!) quietly
                                running,
reeling the peeling painted oars of my boat
against
the grainy flashing surface of the waters
                                 rumbling,
                                                                                  rolling
                                                                                       away
this insatiable yearning
to go wherever it takes me to go, but
i know
              i am very small,
and cannot control the eddy's creeping currents-
constant-currents
thus
          submitting
my wayfaring self
to the
unfathomable.

III
__

these trees towering
                                         above me
around me,
the sapling,
the blanketing
                              (in my lifetime)
                                blooming branches
creating
an emotional, outer, physical, inner, spiritual
                              dwindling
like the leaves left shivering beneath the cold winter's frost,
once casually
                falling,
                              dropping,
drying up around my soul
slipping
into silent winter slumber,
to awaken
                     again...
                                    --and then!
(to the dismay of my self-enlightened discovery)
i see
how small
                                            i am
only to return again
from that brownish-moist
soil-bed
                like a seed
beneath
                  the ground
                                        never sprouting,
only fogetting,
the once and always forvever
and ever
the natural
insignificance
                                                                 of being.

with no one to talk to
and
no plan as to where i should go,
i fall into a listless,
waking slumber
and
feel covered up in cold.

i am the saddest man on earth.
my rock is mud,
my life has lost its worth.

savage, heart
so hurt
and empty
blackened pools of
pain, not envy
given into sleepless nights,
and pain-filled days,
where nothing's real,
where nothing's right.

this is the way it is,
the way it seems to
be
now i peer into a
dusty mirror
seeing little left of me.

The words I leave unsaid
Throb like police lights
across my mind reminding me of
those that escaped to early
That hit their target
With weak strength, gently shot down
Several other's words of similar nature
Left upon thine deaf ears of mine
Who's focus remained on one alone
And yet these words of mine
hold fast to thee, adamantly
A phrase once said, yet unwhole
With maybe and much thought
The gaps left room for acceptance
"I think I might be in love with you"
Those words best left unsaid
For now

With surgical precision
You perfected the incision
Of that poison-tipped tongue,
Like a dart.

My crippling indecision
Was slashed with cold derision,
Till self-belief was wrung
From my heart.

I fear the way you love me:
That tender-touching kiss
Seducing me to nightly
Sink deep in your abyss.

Those smooth caresses take me
To places that I dread,
Your cunning fingers rouse me
To plan such lies ahead.

But while we writhe and tumble
In lust's hypnotic hold,
I fear the final stumble
That will see the truth unfold.