DANCE

They say the road is full of peril and the night is dark. They say the footsteps throughout the journey last but a moment when the longing does come. They say the shade tire and the reflection of the sheen matyr, they say the aftermath is full of the terror of temptation turn at every corner. They say the heart of the human will darken and harden till the squeeze of an projectile take them home. They say thou shall fail for the fugitives towards the top have been known to lack tops, and can drop, just like that... But they say a lot of things. Had there been a writ of alphabets to equate thus proportions, had they not been attired in the buck? But no such luck, temperature follows its own laws and pressure can be naughty when dashed against the call of humidity. So put on a bikini and avoid the baking blast of the stones... Squirm, for the whim is only diabetic to the absense of sugar, hum a sound, blow kisses to a mate, say you and you and you and you and you, etc, etc, know the rules of the let go, of the boiler let go of a top and the innner consciousnesses. Let them go to sleep and forget the pain of a psycho, or embrace it, or debate and let fall all the steam. Thing is, follow the stream, particular the road and note the rose, know that before the exercise of myriad, there was nothing. And no matter the thinking and trouble, the omniverse hardly will ever even take notice.