Conor O'Callaghan's "Fiction" is full of poems we like to think of as "Trompe L'Oeils" or "tricks of the eye". As one of our more post-modern poets, O'Callaghan uses this collection to show the instability behind the ideas of truth and deceit, certainty and uncertainty. We hope you enjoy reading the title poem below.
Fiction
None of this is true
We're still all
we crack ourselves
out to be.
Our hereafters
have not been laid
in a plot
with my loose ends.
You're not miles away
The slow numbers
were never
swayed alone to.
I don't blame you,
smiling in the mirror
at the face
you've just made up.
from
Fiction (2005)
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