A Pack of Lies

By K. Morris Kurzman

The only three true sentences in this poem are the first line, the last line, and one line somewhere in between.

This is a clean poem.

This poem will contain no mention of penises or vaginas.

This poem will not make you think of Judy Garland, the Gross National Product, or Hal Goldberg's mother in a wonderbra.

This poem was written in blood on a paper napkin stained with sweat in a bar on the equator at night by a komodo dragon who likes to use lots of prepositions, even to end sentences with.

This poem will not make use of so-called "quotation marks" or hyphens. (Or parentheses).

This poem is capable of reproducing itself by parthenogenesis.

This poem's purpose is to demonstrate how difficult it is to pick the one truth out of a group of outrageous lies.

This poem's first sentence is the only false one.

This is a poem.

This poem's purpose is to allegorically demonstrates that when people lie constantly to themselves and others it becomes impossible for even they themselves to distinguish the truth from the falsehood.

This poem contains exactly 129 instances of the letter "e".

This poem's author owes absolutely no debt of gratitude to author Tom Robbins or actor Jon Lovitz.

This poem has no author-- it sprang fully formed from the brain of a titan like-- well, like the Goddess Minerva herself!

This poem will leave its readers with a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment upon completion.

This poem is without a doubt the most wonderful, enthralling and engaging piece ever written.

This poem's readers should bow down adoringly at the hallowed feet of its brilliant creator, lest they by flayed alive.

This poem is too short.

This poem is a representation of how closeted homosexuals, through lying to society, and hiding their identities ultimately lose their identities.

This poem's previous line was thrown in arbitrarily so that the poem could be published in a relatively obscure yet respectable online magazine.

This is not a poem.

This poem will contain no lies after this one.

This poem contains no lies before this one.

This poem has teeth.

This poem's current line is not incomple

This poem contains no unintentional misspellings.

This poem's meaning is so complex that even though you, the reader, (Yes you. You-- I'm talking to you-- no, not you-- you--) may think you understand it, you aren't even close to beginning to get a glimpse of its true depth and significance.

This poem's aware of the passage of time.

This poem has neither meter nor rhyme.

This poem, although composed mostly of lies, still reveals an essential truth about the universe.

This poem would like to remind you that you are absolutely free to stop reading whenever you choose, and that there really is no point to this poem, and that you are wasting your time by continuing.

This poem would like to inform you that you have no free will-- that you WILL finish reading this poem, whether you want to or not.

This poem is almost finished.

This poem contains no repeated statements.

This poem's New York readers are protected by a special statute which states that if they take this poem, cut it into tiny pieces, put the pieces into a brown paper bag, and run naked down the street carrying the paper bag and singing the Brazilian national anthem backwards, they will not be charged with exposure.

This poem's author takes no responsibility for the veracity of the statements made within the poem itself.

This poem contains no unintelligible gorps.

This poem's hammer makes perfect sense, and Edmonton.

This poem contains exactly 52 entirely false statements.

This work contains no parts that do not use our most common symbol.

This poem contains no repeated statements.

This poem has not yet grown tedious for the author.

This poem and its author would be greatly offended if you do not finish reading the poem.

This poem's author is not watching YOU. Right now...

line order. in The this words of are

This poem does not contain any questions, does it?

This poem's current line will stand out in your mind.

This poem will not be finished when the last line is written.

This poem is finished.

This poem is finished.

This poem is finished.

This poem is finished.

This poem is unfinished.

This poem's author, Happy Toe Gander is a 24yr. old architect living in Sri Lanka with his cousin, Pomegranate and his amazing dancing goats, Phyllis and Bob. He cannot be reached at dkurzman@mcs.net (and don't call him Morris).
General information: Jeff Walsh
Design and HTML: Jase Pittman-Wells
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