The Lies That Bind

 

Roll a four, or a three. Six faces on that one, but
many more up the sleeve. A fitting occasion is
fitfully suited, custom-designed.

This one agrees, a short smile tugging the strings,
and that one is Zen, dispensing wisdom in
serene-coated hypocrisy.

This is the strong, competent one that brooks no
questions. Oh, and here is the gracious hostess
enshrouded in perfection.

Worst of all is the mirrored labyrinth, pulsing
with illusions that enter and reside, outstay
their uselessness

blank-flash and fracture
the remaining crystal-thin
dew drops of
authenticity.