the hush behind the eyes
the meticulous garbage
a lie is a quiet thing
it strains to be heard between words
peeks and puckers amidst promises
and slithers away

i once believed in the magic of sunrise
minutes of a day when everything is new
a mundane and marvelous renaissance

a lie is a quiet thing
the smell of something not quite white
the careless folds of sheets
smoke that has faded away into the laundry

i smile so bright
every time
pretend i still believe in sunrise
the rip and bleed is noiseless
there is no muffled scream

a lie is an elegant dance
it arches and pirouettes around greetings
flutters and deflates with my smile

a lie is a thread
straining
to pull the anchor
of the sun
from the lake