Fictions


"Bill," I said calmly, "pass me the butter."

William obliged because he had no recourse

But it was at this time when I realized

How little fiction interested me, my own fictions, anymore

And poor Willy ceased to exist

Leaving in the puff of dust and rapidly evaporating moisture

A thousand images of smiling faces and sparkling eyes

Visions to keep me company in this new reality

Visions of love and togetherness and beauty

More lies, to be sure, but at least real ones.


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