Qualia

It rows, it flows, it springs and journeys
It bows and billows over terra firma
It's a fleeting thing, alive but not yet a being
It's an echo when your vocal cords bend
To the will of your whimsy and sing

It huffs, it puffs it rains and it pours
It howls and vowels when it's a strained resource
It's the real good stuff
Always there when you can't get enough
It's the answer when the scatter wind blows
And you question what answers are made of

It's a rainbow rose it's a freak flag flyer
It comes and it goes it's a perennial flower
It's a churchless chime and it vibrates beyond the Devine
I's a kind of space where you can leave your trace
And not have to answer to time

And it tops your crops, it tunes your tone
It pulls your stops and it holds your phone
It's a burning ring, it is the matter of fact, it's a feeling
It's a hiding place you can live inside
Without the constraints of a building

It's not a machine, not a grid, nor a mode
Not a meme, not a scheme, not a code
No it can't be produced, not branded extracted or owned
It is what it is, and so far it is so
On freewheeling terms of its own