TO ALL (THE OTHER) BOHEMIAN LOVERS...
...let's bond a "pitch fork" to all the non-meat that we eat...let's make a bread out of scratch, drink some wine and pour some beer, and eventually we can feed like birds on the crumbs that are all scattered like Da Vinci codes...
...and while we are statues to the grave of another corporation's dead-line...we can learn to text our joints away with a message that reads "RIP"...
...THESE SCATTERED THOUGHTS...i am slowly peeling away like the labels on brown bottles that i simply strip away...and, as i read the small jibber-jabber of every word posted on the ingredients...always wind up feeling like a tree to the corporation's logos...and some days i feel the smack of another dollar bill wasted...
...i don't go on dates...they go on me...i can't climb all the piles of trails blazed that I've wasted in time...
...hey girl: let's pitch a fork to the bond fire we've created...
...our cheap "non-paper" words don't cost a cent no more...so, we can ring to the dial of an image before we waste another dime...
...AND eventually we can laugh the sun away with all those porcelain smiles that led us to depart from all of mankind's separatist ways in the first place, like felt religion...we can vacate this tossed world still holding hands...talk about kisses that remain in hind-sight on all the magazine covers...
...we can learn to touch each other once again with no strings attached and adore each others' smiling faces...
...OR...we can go back to this Bohemian lifestyle of "hope"...
...and sometimes love is just like suicide.