the man who lied to me knew
that immortality is the best kind of lie
that pain is closer to the soul than happiness
secrets known only by the old watchmakers
and the erudite antiquarians
men who lie read every book with their fingers
they know that leaves are the plaits of virgins
unwounded with bloody hands on the cross
and letters are the thorns within the heart of every Laura
betrothed for ever nevermore a wife
only the sea is for the whales’ fishermen
old whore with hair on her chin
the only true men who learn
the salty taste of death
at daybreak
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