I open a weather-worn door

and  step into a cellar.


This is where I keep my old skins, stacked in neat piles.

I let the skin I'm wearing slip to the floor like a summer dress. Release.


It is a dream. 

Nothing  is more real.

I fold  the cast-off remant

with practiced hands.

"Out of my Skin", 2020, Silk, latex, poppy dust, ink. Photos by Ian Sam James