in the toilet. wearing darkened pouts, not quite set on reality, not quite ready for retreat. inside the attitude lives the dancing duck, afraid to frown its way into oblivion.
the dreaded fields commemorate ´outside´, once pegged a ludicrous dream, twice embraced wearing bullet proof vests. i must admit i was drenched. dancing in my own private clubs, performing me out of focus, mucho effed up on frowners.
the sunglasses. the wearing of sunglasses on indoor occasions. out of focus or much too wrapped in it? prancing around like a punch drunk pirate on shore leave, leaving the blank slates on the shore to someone elses leaf.
to you.
sgehlert 