The real world goes like this: The Neversummer mountains like a jumble of broken glass. Snowfields weep slowly down. Chambers lake, ringed by trees, gratefully catches the drip in it’s cup, and gives the mountains theirs own refection in return. This is the real world, indifferent, unburdened.
James Galvin

Sometimes I am allowed to live
in the real world. The other
space I spend in boxes
with the rest of the blinking eyes
clicking teeth, busy hands.

When I return to earth,( I am real
as I write, this moment is real)
Melancholy settles in, though
I am so happy, so grateful, obsequious
even, it’s embarrassing.

It takes a while to become
accustomed to irrelevance
slighted by mountains
snubbed by the sun. It requires
several days really

to align, honor the yearning
of cells, who wish
to fall apart under the sky

become nothing

achieve complete.

© 2013 Abby Smith, Writer