TRUTH'S YOU COUDN'T BEAR

 and what shall we do

about the back of his head, Virginia?

all of these stories need a way out

a new name and a ticket to a place

where no one looks too closely

I'm tired of carrying it with me

tired of letting my anger

smolder into sleep each night

tired of biting my tongue and

swallowing back the blood

with a brave smile

i gave the hatchet a name

before i buried it

some nights i imagine

the smooth handle in my grip

what did you do about the

back of his head, Virginia?

is that where you laid

all the truth you couldn't bear?