How easily I lie to you,
my own parhelion, and all
to me that’s beautiful.
You dream that I flew in
above the clattering of horse’s hooves
and among a drift of roses.

A stable full of tumbleweed
to bed the blonding bride.
We spilled our fearsome treasures
on the deadened straw and half-moon light.

I played your love with plastic
and with stolen movie tickets
and a flower at the hour you awoke.
Was not your prince a princess?
And was patience so rewarded
when the vines were stripped
and evening broke?

a rippling of welkin at the crush of salty lips,
your lover wore a bandage
and a slender pair of hips.
With all the love to blind you
and the wine to will your hands,
you’d never dream of wishing
for a hard Nebraska man.

Were you too young to wonder
when the world made its discovery?
Or could you love without the asking?
And when I turned up bleeding
in the places I had never shown you,
didn’t my love come and kiss me?

How easily I lie to you!



The boys are on the prowl,
should I catch the midnight owl,
or caress whatever’s left of your disgrace?
This town is closing in on me,
and smaller here, and darker there,
how can I say goodbye to your face?

There never was a sea level,
there never was a star.
Except the ones I pushed into your body.
Believe me when I say
that I was every man for you.
I swear that all my lying
was the bravest form of truth.

How easily I lie to you,
my own parhelion, and all
to me that’s beautiful.
I said that I was leaving,
but the train is gone, oh, was I wrong
to love you, to love you?

A thimbleful of heaven scudded
down your tender thigh,
and what was left to do but scurry
up that mountainside.
The people here will tell you things
to hurt you when I’m gone.
Just you never mind their jealous tongues, parhelion.