Get Real

August 4, 2009
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“Get real,” you say
Your words evaporate through the city air
The toxic fumes invisible.
You point to the screen,
The actors in their makeup laugh
In the idiot rich guy’s beachfront mansion.
My words are black pixels
Painting something on your mind’s eye—
Something almost substantial.
“I like their conversation”
You remark in your accent,
After listening to scripted sitcoms.
The people on my pages weep,
And wonder at the magic
More real than daily life.





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