I get used to the characters in my dreams
being stubborn little versions,
obscure little variants, of me,
and so every time it is again made clear
that the actual other people in the world aren't—
well, it's a disappointment, I can tell you.
I want to claim them,
in some cases so I can have them
and in others so I can reject them.
The characters in my life,
and outside of it,
seems so one-dimensionally other
compared to my disparate self-splinters—
how I could benefit from assimilating them!