Litkicks Message Board Archive

This is Fiction

Posted to Poetry





Any resemblance to
any particular
person
actually existing,
past, present or future
can be totally dismissed
from your mind and mine

because this is fiction.

I am only writing plots
and themes based on
fantasies in shadows
surrounding lovers
I haven't met and never will
in pool halls, in elevators,
on beaches, in diners
and cruising fast into
windy cities.

There is no plane
which can take me
out of here,
no matter how
much I would enjoy
time travel.

This is not Gaslight.
Nobody's trying to
drive me crazy
and because I know that,
I try very hard not to
pay attention
to the man
behind the curtain
where I keep myself
veiled
despite the fact
that I am
rendered silent
repeatedly.

Pay attention!

Don't tell anybody
that the list I'm on is dynamic,
changing from minute to minute
and these are just echoes off a dream
and visions in between.

So here I sit and long for Love.
One to fit me like a glove.
Have you heard these words before?
Tell me that, please, I implore?

And so I tell him over and over --
Explicitly log-in to me, baby,
let me recognize your identity.
Your comments made, I wouldn't trade --
Arouse me with your entity!

Yes, please identify yourself, I say.
Who ARE you?, I ask,
that's what I'd like to know, because
the minute I hit your front page,
I'd very much enjoy allowing you
a multitude of features
otherwise unavailable.
Access me!
I'm here and it's true,
life does go on
in and out of the box
I hide inside of.

But now I'm severed,
illusioned, dismissed,
disenchanted,
lost in intrusion,
slammed off the wall
by the accosting
of disrespect,
hearing words berate me,
blast me, ridicule my character
and where did this child,
a mountain towering over
my dismissal,
hear this,
that's what I'd like to know?
Where did this come from?

The answer comes easy
since I've watched as
he's watched
the pushing of keys.

CONTROL
CONTROL

It's clear to see he's just like me,
pushed far past the
abuse of
invisibility,

fighting back
fighting back

But now I am his target
and so I duck behind
my screen,
words typing themselves,
knowing the knowing
of him and how
he knows
how to push --

CONTROL
CONTROL OPTION
CONTROL OPTION DELETE

(maybe
I'll win by default)

--SHIFT--

But maybe I've fallen off a cliff
because there are no keys to push
to delete words screamed into a
disappearing face.

Have you ever seen a mother's
face vanish from
the front of a head
she tries to hide
inside?

This is fiction.
Or is it?

I am not really here.
I am invisible and fading
fast on the annihilation
of a makeshift family dismissed.
But there are times
I really do wonder why,
so perhaps I should just run
for mountains
on the outskirts of deny
where maybe there's an echo
because today
I can only hear my
own voice bouncing off itself,
screaming for protection
from the screaming.

Or maybe now,
I am
finally sane
while I'm drowning in Love I can't have
in the middle of an eviction.

So, just to let you know,
if there's any resemblance
to any person
actually existing,
past, present or future,
you can totally dismiss it
from your mind and mine.

Because this is only fiction --
right?

And I am just the plot
erased by themes
in a fantasy
of my own shadow,
dimmed.

12/2/2000

(footnote... i love my Mac so the keys are a little different_