Islands


Nothing fits and all hangs down
and billows out, slips off and down
and all the faces previously blank
now snarl and gloat and glare
and things held tight within the skull
grow restless, homeless, craving light
and news comes thick and fast and hard
and all the things that once held firm
with superstition, or with luck and charm
now wriggle, dangle; all the ferries
making stops at islands stay in port
and hope runs low, misunderstandings breed
and all the daily quiet and maps
begin to pull and yell, and twist at arms
and disappointment paints the day
and things that were relied on start to stray
which till today might have meant fun
but now, right now, mean only harm
and I, who can't decide, must choose
how to go on and on and on.

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