by Olivia Reynolds
I dreamed I was in my mother's memory, the emotions aroused, the light alone.
over and over the substance in her text messages, in art, in appearance.
Seeing aesthetically, as a painter might see, free demands - demands met.
I dreamed I was a darker dwindling, a gradual peeling away until she was left a live wire of light.
alone and thinking
whether an imitation really is an art and if the emotions aroused are “self-detachment”
I dreamed I was viewed in this light.
with her talking - She thinks, yet she is another- irreligious but at the same time
coming to the light disquiet - this occurs when I am diagnosed and within the fiction