truth is a complicated lie
in which we are all complicit
with more or less awareness
of the fabric we all weave
you decide the coarseness
of the cloth, the patterned
tightness of the web
you drape about the objects of the world
beneath the warp i repeat my sad words
like charms over bones
another ritual recitation
of the way i want my world to be
(from: Primogenitive Folly, August 2001-April 2003)
subtext 