I am done.
Spun on my unhappy arc
from loving to loss.

I seek reality.
Not pretty-colored picturebooks,
Not virtual, not sheer.
Vicarious I only hurt.

Pairs of people everywhere
and one who walks alone.

Imagination
ghost forms
flitting sideways
through my skull
Substanceless
Bodiless
Meaningless
Cheer.

Empty.

An empty room
of smoke and mirrors,
images dancing in my sight.
Insubstantial.

A mind.  Ephemeral.  Essential.  Unique.
Hovering invisible among the light.
Lasers cast visions
of sugarplums and fancies
Imagining other minds
Within the haze.

We are deceived.
Confronted by reality
We hide ourselves
in many ways:

I curl up.  Deny.  Protect.
Hold back, hand over chest,
holding in the blood.
Friends turn away
from picturebook television
only briefly before return.
Real life is nonideal:
Linear points do not make lines,
The paint-by-numbers is off by one.

Back to the picturebook
Back to the fantasy
Turn up the volume
I can still hear the world.

Lovely people
throwing love after
swine.
           -- CSA. 7 February, 1998. 3:20 am.