Fingers trace

the crescent moon coffee stain
on the otherwise white napkin.

Nothing left
between us now
but donut crumbs.

He’s the kind that likes to swindle
He’s always got some deal cooking,
(His bait and switch game doesn’t dwindle,)
When he doesn’t think we’re looking

You went to school with a **** like this,
He always claimed others were cheats.
He showed up early only if and when
They were serving food and sweets.
But never showed up for the work
Or did playground games honestly.
He claimed twice the victories he had
And lied to everyone constantly.

All the deals he makes are scams
He pulls the rug out from under.
(Were his steaks really just spam?)
And leaves giggling at his plunder.

When he got older, he took his dad’s gold
And parlayed it into a lifetime game
Of promises not kept, and half-truths
And, as usual, never once took the blame
He preferred never to pay his bills
And then bragged about how gullible
The creditors were, and how they all
Should really have charged him double.

Hey, **, he thinks we don’t know
Just what kind of game he’s playing.
Just listen to his promises online
It’s the opposite of what he’s saying.

But that’s how snake oil salesmen are;
They cook up a batch of ***** and herbs
And sell it as a cure-all and hurt folks
Then laugh and claim it’s what they deserve.
And, when his books turn out to be cooked
He lies about it way before you start.
When asked how he could be so crooked
He says, “That’s because I’m so smart!”

He’s the kind that likes to swindle
He’s always got some deal cooking.
(His bait and switch game doesn’t dwindle)
When he doesn’t think we’re looking

Caught in a web
Woven by me.

She loves me
I dont.

She loves me
I do.

Silly backwards fish.

Collect pros and cons
It will hurt either way
Cant quite remember
A single word said.

Think with heart
Think with head
These dreams
Engulf all.

It doesn't matter
This life
Is predestined
As is yours.

This web will age
Its adherence will slack
Freedom will be found
If only temporary.

Once, in an orchard, two great men, Prose and Poetry, were walking at twilight, and the golden light of the day was shimmering through sieve of leaves. Both were pacing at the same speed. They came across a wounded bird, fluttering on the pavement. Poetry stopped to see it, but Prose elided this and moved on. Poetry, taken aback, called out him and said:

Poetry:  Please unfold your identity!
Prose:   An intellectual man, very sharp at wit!
Poetry:  Add more!
Prose:   A social reformer and moralist!
Poetry:  So true! But it is only me that weeps for man, bird and beast.

Poetry picked up the bird and brought home for its treatment, and Prose continued his exercise!

Truth twisted or truth told?
Collusion or collaboration?
Who can tell what lies beneath:
Politician or statesman?