“One pill makes you larger and one makes you small and the ones that your mother gives you—don’t do anything at all”…from (‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane…

However: The kisses of sunlight touching soft skin and trail lighted moon-dances in the dark or into the night of delighted confusions fade and trade without bargained sound and the wonders of soft star-touch also reflected from lake glass and sweet eyes…be always home.

We all are—the only way away from this war—gone for so long only to come back home to speak the name of the only reason to fight another war in another land and to imagine opposite times or family spaces placed in quick memory time—beyond sky-whistles—damaged structured—smokeless ruins without rhymes of symmetrical management or steeped in once fashionable reasons to motion—imagine—or discover.

Eye Needle is a fourteen mile drop to sky opening—quick flash and slight in travel might to more of less and across timed mines and star twinkle. Thread thin and long stretched in color and distance and change and certainly certain of ending somewhere—another here or there or through an anxious everywhere. Eye of needle is passage toward the expectation of homeland’s differential and finding similar situations requiring sanities gateway to suggestions of home—of space—and place—to body shape and shift and survive.

Along a river of winding places and the secrets of death silenced by winged changes in flight and shoreline distances from blood left behind—discover the spirits of group-touch lost inside the memories of a something struggle to remember forgotten places behind the twining pine of needled trees and the safety beyond the reaches of iron spears and burning tears…

We shift into the object of another day with the accepted expectations of extraordinary moments of original thought and lights of splendidly created—creations through perceptions of flashing preconceived originality and overloaded repeaters across a wondrous land of sugar and cinnamon-spiced tea or coffee or me or you or us or…in the becoming of a notion immortally important and into legacy’s realm—repeated and recalled and repeated…Amen! Ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust-new-ways-to-win—we must be us?

The where-in-the-world we appear is no irritation to the matter-of-the-matter. The ‘I’ of us has never survived without the everywhere of everyone in everyplace across the sky and below and above the lights of moon—stars and suns’ dances beyond the imagined realms of universal distance and the figures of figures wrapped around a third planet from here-to-there and again to another planet of wondering folks alive in both spaces and places and time.

The ‘I’ ceased when the ‘we’ once began to sparkle into ‘the us’ of our flawless creations by love and art-life for a whatever reason to join the joining circle of everlasting lasting until an end begins something special or less or more—however; we are the greater sum of the ‘I’…eye-of-the-needle’s fourteen mile leap-jump into another space of places to land or leave a leaf behind and shift-tilt together into another world of sun—snow—long hair and laughing smiles…(Grace Slick—‘We do believe in Magic—We do believe in Dreams.’)

And! Beautiful you are…

(‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane…Woodstock-1969…)