dis~honest

things that cling and stick to me

things I cannot shake.

the tremors that leave me stumbling

unable to walk straight lines.

it is not in the light of day

that I struggle to connect the dots.

it is when the shadows fall down low

that I fall between the cracks.

it is in the corners and crevices

that I have learned to hide.

like a spider that skips away

from the edge of the sweeping broom.

under the legs of tables

or that ever rocking chair.

weaving a web of intricate lines

that never reveal their truth.

last night in a dream

I saw rows of bottles lined up on the floor.

and no one in the room

would ask what they were for.

avoidance was the underlying

metaphor of the dream.

again back to the premise

of hiding it all away.

perched in this corner here in my web

catching unwitting prey.

walking, obliviously close

to a dangerous place to be.

unseen evil a present threat

honesty has slipped through the cracks.

I’m even lying to myself now

in this wickedly scripted play.