At moments of high peak
dreams show errors 
in our genetic code:
arrows on the skin’s map
erasures concealed by grammar.
We practise the waltz steps
between dots strewn on marble.

In our lives’ antechambers
the cameras record us blushing,
holding hands, sharpening knives.
Like in any rehearsal, the blades fall
on past things, on future plans.
Time decides for itself how long
the echo, how short the call.

There are no corrections.


© Maria Stadnicka and Andrew Morrison 
Art: Rupert Loydell



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