In this dream, you shed your skin
and cast away your leather wings;
from your pockets, spill these things –
Warfarin, for battles within.
In another, I hold your chin
and nothing else. Come, unspin
this long dream of safety pins
and other stories, wherein
the might of the might-have-been
becomes the force that underpins
the breath of your life worn thin.
In my dream: we swap our skins
you and I, identical twins,
draped in the light of Kuan Yin,
lost in the mist of has-beens
and has-nots, the lines blurring
like your life – now, a tailspin.
I memorise your next-of-kin,
my final act of discipline.
In this dream, we both begin
realizing: that being
alive’s the holiest sin –
prisoners, of human skin.
Spwm day 14