Racing through the bop soaked night they got high with words so many words to feed the minds of "angel headed hipsters" to mountaintops clinging to earthly rocks under a puff pillow sky and summoning the Buddhas of the past present and future none of which exist in the railroad riding world of flesh and craggy old bones sitting in jump seat of speeding cars down Russian hill to north shore to sit in the jazz aura of Bird Parker who like the Bodhidharma came from the east with solemn eyes to sit in wall gazing wonder at it all from a perch in a Berkley cottage where he hid his marijuana and with wide peyotl grin chased poems out to sea and howled at gallery windows drunk in china town eyeballing exotic food with magic sticks pouring from the brown paper bag in every glass until empty yet it's all empty really no real you no real me just the starry night above and his worn old shoes below and there's nothing to do a nothing so sweet can be nothing but virtue and merit rolled into the next joint...and so they went beat saintly and haggard...........with "A Love Supreme"
a toast for the paciencia!!!!!!! 
