By Lewis Brown
The sun was bright
there was water on the road
and I drove into the glow.
You ever have a dream like that?
One that felt so real, so right
it got under your skin and stayed there
subcutaneous.
When I came out the other side it was the same
only the light had changed
and far away a fly landed on my face,
but I was too awake to feel it.
The morning brought mourning
but the ‘dream’ sustained me.
I drove to work again
and rotted patient through the day,
then every night while I was out living
the formaldehyde went in.
In sleep I spiralled not just well but better
until the wheel snapped and the car crashed
and the radio blasted ch-ch-changes.
But every day I woke up feeling human, awful,
and reality writhed like a nightmare I missed
less and less; budding horns, wet and tattered wings
pleading
does the caterpillar hate the butterfly?
Is the chrysalis afraid to die?
What if I have to change again?
What if I’m not strong enough? What then?
What if the shed-skin has to go back on?
There's still time. Oh god.
Oh god there's still time.