Long Long Con

Start with the truth. Strip bare.
Once you get down to skin
Flayed in cold winds, you’ll see

That’s not the truth you meant.
You’re shamed, cold, and in pain,
And for what? To draw stares?

Say, To hell with the truth.
The truth can take its stares
And fuck them in the eyes.

From now on, you’ll tell lies.
Tell them well. Lay lies on
Thick. You’ll start to feel sick

And slow from the hot weight
Of those, your well-faked clothes.
Crawl off to a dark place

Where no one can see you.
Strip once more. That’s the truth
You want, or more like it.

Make a heap of your lies.
Take the best few. The rest,
Sell for thrift—new to you!