Something i might have heard about being cured

justam

Now, what could I write tonight with the rhythm bouncing bright as I read and alight on this feeling? I think there's a bit more than reeling and pealing that goes into a fine popcorn ceiling. That feeling! Do you think it's the carnival spirit or a clam bruising and cruising apparition? For, oh, it never makes sense when they descend, vulture-like. These angry old hags that appear on the pier. I wonder WHY they don't understand that you can't land a lovely ship in a dry barren closet and that it doesn't FLY to spit evil venom on melting men marching?! It doesn't make sense to dance on pretense when we're all moving closer to heaven! It's true. Me and you. Moving upward and out. Fast folly for those feral females without lawn's dew, luckily, it's still true only furious fleeting.