FILL IN THE BLANKS

I fill in the blanks with myself

because I don't know the character

that I am supposed to be.

Plot synopses fly like pigs in the sky

as pixel summits rise and fall

like square snowflakes on a velvet sea.

We fill roles of sycophant or star.

We are incipient liars and facades

climbing rough stone walls

like clinging Hedera helixes.

Our tendrils dig and grasp

into the tiny crags no one else sees

and hold until there is nothing left

to siphon away.

We stash on a remote shelf

those who fail to conform

or who betray our fantasy

of who we are.

I fill in the blanks with myself.