April showers, how repentant. As if I eluded February…to stay in such a bogus fight.
How dare my carriage be discovered so lusterless with such spite.
Gregarious women warriors did not sit pantry-side…deliberating yeast for might.
No fireside banter…wronged versus right.
No paragon in which to huddle.
For the many, the cosmopolitan, visibility a squeamish black hole.
Their consumption’s a salty wine from abiding the fold.
Who will douse the sweat from my brow…as I, grow old?
Need not dwell on all that has vanished to the wayside…
all the pokes and prods…
all the worries on the doorstep.
Words and willfulness that weigh on my features.
Pen and paper missteps etched in hollow bark meant to…undo.
A drumming beat…that is not quite thunder-like.
Rhythm’s noise now…an imperfect blue funk mixed with classic hues and purposeful refrain.
A tune not a one can claim.
Divergence’s influence…small tunnels from matter to the mane.
I would imagine it is difficult to stare into the woods…to see only one tree. But then again, an un-examined life is no small feat.
What if the whole world just held hands?
United as one
Those who opposed, fell off
Disintegrated into the sun
The only thing left of evil was ash
The only thing left on earth was people with passion
Heart for Mother Nature
Caring for their fellow human being
Common considerate behavior
Contribution towards humane higher plane of consciousness
One pill makes you larger. And one pill makes you small. And the ones that mother gives you…Don’t do anything at all.
Go ask Alice (instead)…when she’s ten feet tall.
And if you go chasing rabbits. And you know you’re going to fall. Tell ’em a hookah-smoking caterpillar…has given you the call.
Call Alice…when she was just small.
When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to get off (or where to go.) And you’ve just had some kind of mushroom. And your mind is moving low. WTF…go ask Alice, I think she’ll know.
When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go.
When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead. And the White House is talking backwards. And the Queens are off their heads.
Remember what dormouse said…
‘Feed your Head. Feed your Head.’
– Grace Slick