Findally

Every story has to lie its way into existence

so i don't tell any of them

i talk about i never been

what ive never to do

which i can't hope for

unable to say it
when it talks

though not
there is a shame in the lie it self

that's the dishonest part

when things are telling me to them

i have to say

just like you always have -
to know

if you want, say there is truth

like places are strange as they come

to be understood with binoculars
as no more

or friends

families in eloquent torment of ground

good holes

'sorry' atop massive flagpoles

as it is, it is late

for stopping no telling on me

and as such

into the wind with the watch

cast sure

it won't be found

blowing in all of directions
less arounds

on having to say quickly

what appears

findally

you look at the glass

call it over

and ask it for a tale or another

that you may sleep

but sleep

it will say

is its absence