When
Have I deceived you?
You
know only of yourself, there is no treason in intent
Only
in action
Your
breath clings stickily to encumbered dreams
Sweating
the venom of it slowly
Where
you are sure is the fateful death of us all
In
writhing you shall be content
To
count all life as misery
And
all points of fact sticky digits
With
which to stultify all response
Into
recompense
I
don’t have your self-assurance
I
don’t have you brevity of thought
So,
when have I deceived you?
