all those faces and eyes can demand every bit of attention. i want the island that dramatically changes to the climate of my moods. somewhere where rules flutter to the wavering catastrophe that is my thought process. one that bends to the on going destruction of routine that i hate and love. that sunken stomach feeling obliterated by soothing aftershocks of will. music could be made without ears to hear it as wind picks up the long tendrils of windy hair unkempt. dances unscathed by rightful footings in sloping sand hills made for weeping. decisions could be based upon spinwheels while the waters make whirlpools to climb in.
no standards
no what should be
no standards
no what should be