poem || Lawrence Upton

LIES – for voice(s) and dancer(s)

The conference discussed the availability of air across the whole planet.

Dancer(s) begin their dance, not pausing.

How much, it was asked, is an allowable quantity of air per capita?

Dancer(s)' activity becomes jerky and rapid.

No one knew, but one radical said that air and harmony are inseparable.

Dancer(s) fall down.

A lady stood up and declared herself to be damp.

Dancer(s) rise.

You have expressed all of our feelings, said a lady counsellor.

Dancer(s) try to fly.

The meeting had to be adjourned.

Dancer(s) fall down.

The baby was yelling mama. Its mother leaned over

Dancer(s) embrace.

as if to bite it.

The meeting had to be adjourned because, it was said, the conference led to passion.

Dancer(s) cuddle.

And additionally it was arid.

Dancer(s) pick their way.

The conversation was arid.

Dancer(s) stare at each other.

But all ran on together concurrently, heedless of the chill, fleeing the abyss into adjournment, craving further admissions of guilt from the apprentice.

Dancer(s) improvise.

They were quite candid. They dug at their coats for fleas. They made assumptions about arguments. They were the cleverest canines alive. Their cleverness was implicit. They barked up all the wrong trees.

And afterwards, on the authority of a handwriting expert, their authority had to be adjusted.

Dancer(s) flee.

They hid inside an alcove, being candid.

Dancer(s) shake.

The chill of their adjudication quieted the audience.

Dancer(s) waltz.

There was an answer, but no one understood it.

Dancer(s) sleep.

I want you to be candid, said Julia; but, as I say, she didn't listen to the answer.

Afterwards they had to drag the meat of the kill abreast.

Dancer(s) improvise.

Additionally a few of their adversaries made an appeal to the expedition as it offered them a calendar showing photographs of the brilliance of the sun.