Tip Of The Iceberg Poem by RIC BASTASA

what you know of me for the whole year
when you read my poems are not at all true.
they are all lies.
words pretending to be hands
and feet.
Lines pretending to be faces and bodies.
i do not wish to tell you that you must disregard them
you want them to believe to be true.
i cannot stop you.
the women and their names are lies.
the white horse
that father rode was also a big lie.
It was father who
gunned the horse down, and he even sold all the meat and bones
of the poor animal in the streets of the town where we live.
the places and events and other
sighs and moans, the squeaking beds and mournful
moons and crying stars: they are all lies.
they are but tips of the icebergs of my glacier
of lies floating in the middle of the arctic.

you always follow me and
i do not wish to stop you.
and i will tell you wrong directions.
i will tell you about
the wrong places that i have not ever been to.
i will tell you about the errors.
the wrong things about me.
i will tell you exactly the opposite of who i am and where i am going.
you may be lost as i will mislead you.

But, IF you really want to know me, i will compromise.
You must remove your clothes.
Everything.
Even your skin.
Your face.
Your eyes.
Tighten every screw and bolts that hold your bones.

If you want to really know me, not just the tips of the icebergs about me,
you must be naked first.
Undress everything that covers you.

Then we must swim together. Let us dive under.
Let us go deeper
together. It is where my soul lives.
Deep under the tip of the iceberg.

Do you see me now? I am bigger and wider under.
Do you not fear me? Be not afraid,
I am the one that you always followed
for years and more years to come.
I am huge, deep down under.
Do not fear me now. Hold me.
Do not leave me. I am your truth too.

For one thing, there is no exit going up.
Now we must suffer together. IT is forever.