stdClass Object
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    [ID] => 20415
    [post_author] => 11
    [post_date] => 2019-10-02 14:10:24
    [post_date_gmt] => 2019-10-02 14:10:24
    [post_content] => Start by telling them about that night I was lost,
adrift, a skinny ghost tripping through Shinjuku's dirty
streets, hob-nobbing with yakuza, dizzy on shochu,
face shiny in the city’s thick wet heat. Or that morning
my legs dangled free from the helicopter door, Vietnam’s canopy
flattening like moss beneath my feet; cold hands toying with my chute
cord, weighing up the moment of drop, casing my landing spot.
Or there's the one where I held my own on Oranienburger Strasse
at gunpoint and laughed off my attacker with drunk aplomb.
Or when I gave my best stories to a struggling screenwriter,
who made a bomb with a film off the back of it;
every mistake amped, heartbreak tweaked for the masses.
As I stick things together, tot it all up, I find
some details still count, but others do not.
    [post_title] => The second lie
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => the-second-lie
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2019-10-03 07:45:34
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2019-10-03 07:45:34
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=20415
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2019
            [wpcf-summary-description] => Commended in The Poetry Society's 2019 Stanza Poetry Competition on the theme of 'Lies', judged by Geraldine Clarkson.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, Stanza Poetry Competition 2019
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 20388
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Niall Firth
            [slug] => niall-firth
            [content] => Niall Firth is a journalist from Darlington who lives in north-east London. His poems have been published widely in magazines such as The Rialto, Lighthouse, Litmus, Butcher's Dog, and The Interpreter's House and on websites like And Other Poems and Ink, Sweat and Tears. He was long-listed in the Winchester Poetry Prize in 2018, when he was also one of 12 poets who took part in the Toast mentoring program. His debut pamphlet Superposition came out in 2019.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 20388
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Niall Firth
    [slug] => niall-firth
    [content] => Niall Firth is a journalist from Darlington who lives in north-east London. His poems have been published widely in magazines such as The Rialto, Lighthouse, Litmus, Butcher's Dog, and The Interpreter's House and on websites like And Other Poems and Ink, Sweat and Tears. He was long-listed in the Winchester Poetry Prize in 2018, when he was also one of 12 poets who took part in the Toast mentoring program. His debut pamphlet Superposition came out in 2019.
)

The second lie

Niall Firth

Start by telling them about that night I was lost,
adrift, a skinny ghost tripping through Shinjuku’s dirty
streets, hob-nobbing with yakuza, dizzy on shochu,
face shiny in the city’s thick wet heat. Or that morning
my legs dangled free from the helicopter door, Vietnam’s canopy
flattening like moss beneath my feet; cold hands toying with my chute
cord, weighing up the moment of drop, casing my landing spot.
Or there’s the one where I held my own on Oranienburger Strasse
at gunpoint and laughed off my attacker with drunk aplomb.
Or when I gave my best stories to a struggling screenwriter,
who made a bomb with a film off the back of it;
every mistake amped, heartbreak tweaked for the masses.
As I stick things together, tot it all up, I find
some details still count, but others do not.