if the bohemian spaceship were a bird it would wear a bandanna, and it would fly over an organic highway of noise stopping to mingle with the beauty.
the language of the universe spoke with vibrations and familar sounds capturing the newness of the blank wall.
and the spaceship no one knows quite who is on it because it shifts and drifts thru the epitome of the untypical night stopping to be inspired and throwing seeds at a mardi gras parade to street kids with little hope.
and if the words are a bullet they'll do with out language, if words are a building block they'll build stairs to the angel in the basement who has a resume of cocaine sales but she swears she'll clean up her act.
the mind has trapped let the rhythms untap the potential of the fair trade diamond inside of the clouds that pass... and the moment is the moment so allow and water the garden to be epic.
if knowledge is notes on a music scale wisdom must be a drum machine in the heart