Pants on fire

Find yourself caught in the morning unfolding,
a witness to the south's leaden panorama
-- derricks, clouds, traffic -- slowly sweeping into view.
Find yourself sharing a smoke with a single disappointing friend
at a time caught in what a tangled web we weave.
Find yourself extending gifts in the form of the benefit of the doubt,
convinced of the innate goodness of people
and all the paltry things we use to paint over
the often inexcusable human desire to lie,
how you want this one to be true
despite all the warning bells,
sirens singing the same song.

Find yourself finding out for certain
how There's nothing going on is really, truly, undeniably something.

Find yourself swearing to keep a safe distance
when you can barely prevent invisible strings
tugging you this way and that, here and there.
Find yourself starting to lose faith,
wanting, no, praying, that shit won't hit the fan if it hasn't already,
knowing how everything has a price and has a way of unraveling, revealing.

Find yourself finally settling for refusals,
vehement as though everything were set in stone,
plugging your ears with music that says
Don't tell me I told you so and Good luck, good luck, good luck.



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Interesting conversation.