Strange Sins, Two

In the eye of this storm
the hours are divided into sins
of commission and sins
of ommission. That these are standard
percentages in life's gamble is
barely noted, and never really
understood. Someone won't tell me
what is the beginning and what
is the end.
My energy runs out,
like blood from a cut artery
but it boils away
in this nuclear heat
becoming a dense atmosphere,
so very hard for me
to breathe.

Written during the time I was writing the reincarnation-incest novel, Strange Sins. The title is from Raymond Chandler, "her eyes were like strange sins". The idea of lying by leaving data out had really never occurred to me before this. It is ironic that I eventually married and lived with a grandmaster of this technique, my ex who used to write fiction, but now writes something that reads like fiction but is supposed to not be fiction. See what I mean? Perhaps it is an art, then.