It’s not a lie if you believe it.
What if there is nothing
to hold to
and what if nothing
holds
and what of me?
Nothing gluing
the eyes to the mouth
to the head.
Words emerge
to puff and pass
stillborn and gaunt
dead-tongue run-off;
I am elasticised!
Pickled brain and saline —
do not trust me
yet
my eyes sting,
still believing nothing.
CONTENT 