The lying Fly 

A lie, a lie is like a fly
buzzing around my head,
it sits on me, it stares at me,
I recognize it not,
yet feel a deep necessity
to swat it and be rid,
but flying lies are nebulae,
so near and yet so far,
they cannot just be brutalized,
but must be understood:
a lie, a lie is like a web
as smooth as possible
as near to truth, as traitorous 
convincing, pious, safe.
I cannot even help myself,
it stabs my back,
it paints me black,
I must believe in it.
Today I kill whatever fly
dares to sit on me
pursuing it relentlessly
throughout the living room.
A living lie will never die,
the fly, the fly is 
me.

2007-05-16