of lies, stuck just as a fly. I broke
my wings on silken strings that felt
velvet to the touch. I fell for him as autumn
leaves fall off the tree, leaving the branches

bare as a broken kitchen chair. Beware
of the rays so blinding. They light up
the sky as lightening. And strike! It rained
splinters, sharp and cold as icicles in winter

the night I uncovered his lies. I cracked
the hive. And all the sugary amber spilled
to the floor. It oozed out of all his pores
into a big mess. I cannot look at him without

seeing his lie. How can I look at the sky
without seeing the clouds puff out
their chests? Without swallowing the grey
sunken in my breast? I'm hot as a summer

sidewalk. You can fry an egg on
my back. I'm taking his lie and planting it
as seeds in the spring when the earth
is soft. The morning dew bathes the blades

from yesterday. I gave his lie
a grave. And out from it blooms macaroons.