Story-Skin by Ian Smith

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This heart charges forward
on sucking chambers
on crazy pistons.

Days of the labyrinth
went missing, dispersed
before the advent
of this beating season.

The gauzy shadows
folded and fled
to obscure redoubts.

The weight of the future
is crushing truth
the malformed
into coal, into
into light.

Let me write
the story of my life,
scrawl it out on your skin
in crayon.

Let our stories
speak and be spoken
weave and be woven,
one into the other,
driven and driving
ridden and riding.
A dream and a dream,
dreaming, dreamed.