mmmdcccxx

Introductory Notes

now it is completely silent,
but for the white noise, the
sources of which are: the three
fans that go about circulating the
air (which is usually warm, but is
today soothingly cool) around in
this place, my miniature home
(a doll’s house), and an air
purifier that was stolen
from a hotel several years ago
(does it matter that it wasn’t
by me?)—how if i’ve no friends,
not even local acquaintances,
at some point the local might
become the only bunch of idiots
who could be more than acquaintance.
the easy exceptions are the ones that aren’t
here, the ones ongoing, regular, almost constant
with rapport and conversation; ones i can see.

oh, but to be a hemisphere away.  for three solid years. 

nothing that seems normal, everything that seems LOVE, 

but is nevertheless surreal.  something that can be suddenly
and stiffeningly doubted (this can’t be, we should be in the
same room!).  proclaiming love, yet legally stifled.
hell, i was essentally homeless until four years ago.

and this four years in an SRO has been fraught with
reminders of the impossibilities from which one might
at one point emerge.  so, look at me, i’ll look at you.
know that the plan’s the thing.  know that i hear

myself in furture tense.  is it the same with you
from me?  how else can virtual not remain
virtual?  when does a breakdown or a
realization occur?   we can indeed
motor along, but how intensely this
motoring, the speed, until the removal
of the virtual, smashing into each other
so eager we might break some bones. 

to feel a bone broken by slamming into
each other would be a truth too alarming.
but how else might we know we have it?
i know i’m a teasing pacifist.  but this world

teases us.  am i simply a retailer of dreams?
NO.  but we both have to KNOW.
we each MUST know and do.
i do.  i do.  i do.  do you?
maybe you do.  ten times
ten times ten times ten.
whisper, darling, the sweet
nothings that, when whispered,
satiate.  feed me.  i don’t mind
if it is a drug, if i can taste your
finger.  drugs and fingers are real.
they get me from here to there.
give me a bullet to bite into.  or a 

belief to drive me unwaveringly, so that 

even if it is not believed by you nor any
body else along the way it will be nothing
but firm to me.  concrete, no con.  a plan
bigger than a planet, a miniature universe.
one in which universes, mostly believed
by me, from all aspects of my past, meet.
the plan of today meets nothing but reality.
shoot a cannon into an unclear tomorrow and
there may not even be a noise.  placing a
bomb of destruction or celebration inside
a small non-virtual can is, say, reality?
how can i say this: tomorrow is real!
how real it might be, will be, is.
come on over.  the water is wet and
it cleanses indefinitely, peeling off
layer after layer until only skin.  i

swear that i can get us out of the 

water before we disappear.