on a bed of leaves
in a dream with seeds
let the river melt
of first impressions
water mark on paper
with invisible ink
only live every other day
get the bad things to have meaning
let the good spin over your head
separate nothing from enough
the obvious is in my vision
a new world is created in my house
the voice of tomorrow
goes down with the sun
and up with the moon
it becomes a bridge of language
the last word is the truth
-Butta Love
