We are all liars:

Liars by preference,

Liars by profession,

Liars by lives

lived behind drapes of intimation

and partial confession.

 

We are the liars of lights

where lives are dim,

glowing in pearlescent moisture,

reaching dark‑gloved into the last seats,

packed into the backs of halls

where words hammer

softly on stained, chipped

rough-plastered walls.

 

We are liars stove up

and closed off from the truth,

talking fast with our backs

turned into the silence,

into the consequence.

into the betrayal

into the boards

 

Come here.

COME HERE!

 

Step into the hall,

Here where we are all

agreed to conform,

to blow the same lines

from the same horn,

 

Here where the performers lie

planted firm against the earth,

thigh to mother thigh

thirsty lips searching through

the soft cool dirt

sprouting already

like a woody fungus

flowering on antique logs,

seeping into the moss and loam

of the Heidelberg floor.

 

Eat then, this fruit.

Consume and transcend.

Chew the poetry plant.

Watch the liars glow.

 

Slide back into the hall

where your own vision grows

more finely detailed

than any I have ever seen before.