Drugs Are A Bet With Your Mind.

I Am Troubled, Immeasurably By Your Eyes. I Am Struck By The Feather Of Your Soft Reply. The Sound Of Glass Speaks Quick, Disdain And Conceals What Your Eyes Fight To Explain.

In The Beginning We Were Creating Our Music, Ourselves, Every Night . . . Starting With A Few Outlines, Maybe A Few Words For A Song. Sometimes We Worked Out In Venice, Looking At The Surf. We Were Together A Lot And It Was Good Times For All Of Us. Acid, Sun, Friends, The Ocean, And Poetry And Music.

Between Childhood, Boyhood, Adolescence & Manhood (maturity) There Should Be Sharp Lines Drawn W/ Tests , Deaths, Feats, Rites Stories, Songs, & Judgements.

The Subject Says: I See First Many Things Which Dance... Then Everything Gradually Becomes Connected.

Where Are The Feasts We Were Promised? Where Is The Wine, The New Wine, Dying On The Vine.