Sunday with Dave: Bygone


The fabrication is never outsourced,
constantly a threat,
just by occurring,
willful, hence all in one,
never seeing the divergence
limiting the fact of one’s knowing,
convincing cajoling another voice
heard only in cavernous sentiment,
throbbing between reconciliations,
dead weight of friendship,
the fiction that I would not kill you
if forced,
and hate myself to survive,
uttering its phantasm as true,
till sex has a tactile elation
never totally flesh,
lost in, standing out,
feeling the entity manufactured
to cover immediacy,
solely, intimacy made self-interested
the art pontificates advertisements,
who in their dissembled appendages,
tear me apart,
mirroring my lies as a detente,
zealously proclaimed.

© Dave Arenas 12/26/2006
© Dave Arenas Short Stack Story Time 2015

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