Romy the polyrhythmic cinnamon beauty,
her butterfly flies throughout the day
and rides a bangled carpet thru the night.
Omflower tattoo a leading light
thru the heaving quayside mass.
Walking along Bridge Street,
both immortally stoned,
attuned to those sublime frequencies...
She sits in her bohemian quarters
-one of the Saved
-listening to Buena Vista and Jack Johnson.
Organic rhythms permeate this golden life...
thinking Moroccan thoughts
she walks the sacred streets,
natural opium radiating
as she bounds along
following that country road,
Jesus clouds all the way back
to West Virginia.
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An experiment with words.
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