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Skin Walker

by Richard Stevenson

Coyote, wolf, deer, owl ...
I choose the animal I need
to jump your rational fence.

You catch me by the roadside -
a coyote walking on his hind feet.
Look into my blood red eyes.

I hypnotize you, just long enough
to get back on all fours
and move beyond Cartesian lines.

You’ve got four dimensions -
width, height, length, time.
I’ve got five. Move through your

space-time co-ordinates
like water through sand.
Seep into, take over whatever animal

meets my gaze, allows me
to disappear before your cell phone
can pixelate my face.

You don’t stare down a bear -
not if you value your life!
Look at me: I become you.

You’ll do my bidding;
if you’re lucky, die
before I jump hosts again.

Your people call me skin walker,
feel the hitch hike tingle
of my presence as I take control.

Multiple personality or possession?
It don’t matter when I’ve got
you on my platter.

Your skin may crawl
or quiver. You tell yourself
it’s just a virus. You’re getting

a bad head cold or fever,
but by then I’m looking
through your eyes,

apprising the next rock
across the stream of molecules,
the river that runs through us all.

I’m your totem animal,
any animal you want to be,
but you can’t cross the same stream twice.

S-s-skin walker. S-s-skin walker...
Light as a skeeter’s peter.
Gonna be the death of you.

Copyright © 2016 by Richard Stevenson

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