that reminds me

from a balcony high enough to cause apprehensions,

somewhere on Earth, someplace in the World, while contemplating

the vastness of the landscape, I walked to the refrigerator to nab a cold beer.

I like beer, but unlike many old friends (living and dead,

in paradise or H-E-double hockey sticks, around the time when

John Lennon mentioned John Sinclair (who?) in a song before

he wrote a whole song dedicated to Sinclair and his incarceration

in 1969 for selling two joints to undercover cops.

back then, I "knew" Sinclair slightly with the assistance of 3rd party

encounters, yet to this day still feel a remote connection to Lennon,

simply by the mere mention of Sinclair's name in a song.

now, under a moony night sky but stars enough to discourage counting) –– 

I don’t “love” beer. I like it, but I can live without it and like me, it's just

another link in the seemingly infinite chain of experiences.