Untitled

the truth is I went up, I
went in the truth is how it is at
four o'clock in the morning the truth is the
damp under the sink that you
ignore and the truth is
worthless and failure and the truth
is loved and
not chosen and the truth is a
tiny thread
hanging from your cuff caught
in a fist and
broken by a
snap of the wrist and the truth is
memory what you memorized what you knew
was written before you
wrote it the
truth is all the words are
still mine and the truth is worthless and
failure and the
truth is what you write and the truth is
its not written
and the truth is then you wrote it and the truth is
judgement and the grit on the sidewalks when the
snow melts away and the truth is
worthless
failure
not yet written.