i'm working out the terms of a hundred little daily deceits
looking at all the beautiful faces i love
and yet betray in only a few seconds,
all in the time it takes to say
''of course not''
or "don't be silly"
little denials in the space of simple conversations
which are, in reality, full-time moral undertakings
requiring the ten-thousand angels tap dancing on the dark side
to pull it off.

of such is the fragile edge of my existence
where  i walk close to walls like a nun
where i wake in the night
alarmed by my own breath
where i accept failure
and wait for the consequences
of becoming more like myself
of admitting the lies
not unlike peter,
but without the halo.