That in a dream we were
in Kings Cross Station,
waiting for an unspecified train,
when from nowhere
I said fuck this
and morphed into a huge bug,
equipped with antennas,
wings and pincers and at that
I flew over the ticket barrier
and as soon as I’d landed
on the other side, I was swarmed
by the transport police for
not purchasing a ticket,
as they then pulled out tasers
and I pulled off arms
with my pincers -
staring at the unfolding carnage
she said that she’d screamed
at me to stop,
when she’d spotted another
more familiar looking version
of myself sat down,
happily oblivious to it all
and she then said that she’d shouted
at him to help stop the chaos –
but he’d just continued to sit there,
calm as a toad in the sun
and finally she said that the only
thing that made any sense about
her dream, was that whichever way
she looked at it, once again
it was my fault.

Gwil James Thomas is a novelist, poet and inept musician from Bristol, England. He has been nominated for Best of The Net twice and once for The Pushcart Prize. His most recent chapbooks are Lonesome Wholesome Soup (Holy & Intoxicated Publications) and Under The Same Moon (Between Shadows Press), a split with the poet Tohm Bakelas. He plans to one day build a house, amongst other things.