You know I am lying when
I use my hands too much
or my teeth begin grinding
or my big laugh is out to lunch
and everything I say depends on
whether your last question ended
on an up or down tone.
You know that I’m about to break
when I lean over every word
bending slowly like a cookie
when crumbs from my midsection
scatter on the table hoping
they taste better than they look
and you can almost hear me crack.
You can tell I am somewhere else
franchising my impossibles
when my ground though false
is shaking with inaudibles
you reach over to take my pulse
silent but formidable
murmuring in the harbor.