dealing with a kind of chaos in an indeterminable time

what do you want me to say?

too soon?

dogged

how to say
what not to say
would be
remiss
I don't feel like telling you something that I think
you'll think is designed to hurt
but I've not
choice
I'm trying, you see, to avoid hypocrisy
the diligent use of truth
in the pursuit of right-seeming
beauty
trying to avoid the accusations
I levelled at you
being turned around, in a brighter London
and stencilled
on a furrow on my face
I'm trying to tell the truth
but it's a slippery proposition
and whose truth
and when truth
all disappear in
the worry that I'm about to do
what I begged you not