This lie is memory’s technology
We ourselves are, now and ever.
We have to be brief and skitters
Somewhat vague and skywards.
A truth has changed organically,
Turns out to be a different truth
Somewhat like a smoothly lying.
That we are lying is a bigger lie
And smoothly lying is untruth
Because nobody smoothly lies
And there are lumps in throat
Where they lie smooth as ever.
Poems are our bigger lies below
Lumps in throat lying smoothly.
They skitter skyward and blue
And as empty and high as sky.