In my ideal world
We would all speak in movement
a beautiful dance
interpretive
much like a whimsical
musical
I'd weave
wringing out
socially acceptable action
soaring through the air
on wings of weirdness
There would be paragraphs,
novels
all written
with the bending of my back
the twirling of fingers
and twisting
and flipping of my  
crazy curly coils
of hair on my head
Poetry would seep through the muscles
of my body
and you would respond
only in embrasive motility
fluidly moving
to song and unspoken language
and we would all be a frenzied
foolish
*interpretive dance

Ghostly grey shadows
over cornery rooms
clinging away from dawn,
in hinges and window slit.
And rain air with it.

embrasive drizzles occupies;
dark smoky skies.

cloud silhouette
devours mountains
and their tree.
World's the cloud,
mountain is me.