Carol Bennett   © 2010 All Rights Reserved


Iíve let denial lead me in its sailboat
from harbor into rolling fog.
I donít think about where Iíll end up

since Iím in denial of where that will be.
Denial works best in moderate doses.
If it keeps the hopeless from killing themselves,

why not spare those of us who love them?
Depressives like myself find it unnatural
to give up denial entirely.

Iíd have left my companion years ago,
the lying cad, if Iíd chosen to kiss
the truth and follow its dictum.

Avoidance is bliss before blister, but still bliss.
Kissing the truth is kissing a cold, hard
bastard, an ass-biter you bargain with,

baby, bribe, put off like the thought of dying.
I float with the dreamers who levitate
in steady, tranquil states of denial,

those offbeat, Bohemians chugging
their old clunkers up steep hills of debt,
futons on the floor. They still believe

in swans of creation, invention, the cureÖ
(Within oneís denial are all the answers.)
Allow denial to dictate like religion

and it will say, Hold on to his embrace
however false, at any cost.

You can always pay later. And I did.


M. Nasorri Pavone
Copyright © 2010  

M. Nasorri Pavone's poems have appeared in New Letters, Harpur Palate, Main Street Rag, Quercus Review, and elsewhere. She also writes plays, script analyses and is a graduate of the University of California at Los Angeles. She lives in Venice, California.


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