Bring forth the tides,
Wash away prevarications,
Riding whims of waves
Buried in succulent grips
Like shells stuck on puckering anemones,
Addictions attached to denial.

Though what is truth
But an end result of an unreliable mind?
You’ve made up mine, I’ve made up yours.
Dying with our inky fables,
Narratives shaped into cultured pearls
Passed on as wisdom,
Fruits of survival,
When blackened tongues have
Spun a mucus memory.

Put away your finger of judgment
Resting in the folds of the unchanged.
What’s the use of being well adjusted
When even rainbows get boring and
No one trusts the smile upon a face,
Needing our daily dish,
Tabloids in check-out aisles,
Custom tailored digital lives.

When the sea swells and the moon
Lays her weary head upon a glassy reflection,
It is the thin layer pinching truth
Between window panes of sea and sky,
A fine shawl resting on weary shoulders,
Heavy with the burden of untruths
Even as they lay self evident
In the light of day.


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