wrong way
of telling the truth.
The truth is, truth
is not meticulous,
and is never
parsimonious.
The truth is,
there are always
many different
ways it could have
gone between us—
and what you think
is your construal
of our stilted last kiss, say,
or my staunch refusal
to wave as
you were leaving
is not the full
story, but a
punch-up in revision.
In fact, it wouldn't be untrue
to say
that the facts,
factitious as they are,
cause the truth
to withdraw—
and that, usually,
it would bring us much
closer to veracity
never to talk
at all.
