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Wilderness: The Lost Writings of Jim Morrison

Wilderness Volume I - The Lost Writings of Jim Morrison For Pamela Susan I think I was once I think we were Your milk is my wine My silk is your shine MOSAIC ------ a series of notes, prose-poems stories, bits of play & dialog Aphorisms, epigrams, essays Poems? Sure .......... ______________ PROLOGUE SELF-INTERVIEW I think the interview is the new art form. I think the self-interview is the essence of creativity. Asking yourself questions and trying to find answers. The writer is just answering a series of unuttered questions. It's similar to answering questions on a witness stand. It's that strange area where you try and pin down something that happened in the past and try honestly to remember what you were trying to do. It's a crucial mental exercise. An interview will often give you a chance to confront your mind with questions, which to me is what art is all about. An interview also gives you the chance to try and eliminate all of those space fillers . . . you should try to be explicit, accurate, to the point . . . no bulls hit. The interview form has antecedents in the confession box, debating and cross-examination. Once you say something, you can't really retract it. It's too late. It's a very existential moment. I'm kind of hooked to the game of art and literature; my heroes are artists and writers. I always wanted to write, but I always figured it'd be no good unless somehow the hand just took the pen and started moving without me really having anything to do with it. Like automatic writing. But it just never happened. I wrote a few poems, of course. I think around the fifth or sixth grade I wrote a poem called "The Pony Express." That was the first I can remember. It was one of those ballad-type poems. I never could get it together though. "Horse Latitudes" I wrote when I was in high school. I kept a lot of notebooks through high school and college, and then when I left school, for some dumb reason - maybe it was wise - I threw them all away . . . I wrote in those books night after night. B ut maybe if I'd never thrown them away, I'd never have written anything original - because they were mainly accumulations of things that I'd read or heard, like quotes from books. I think if I'd never gotten rid of them I'd never be free. Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you. . . . and that's why poetry appeals to me so much - because it's so eternal. As long as there are people, they can remember words and combinations of words. Nothing else can survive a holocaust but poetry and songs. No one can remember an entire novel. No one can describe a film, a piece of sculpture, a painting, but so long as there are human beings, songs and poetry can continue. If my poetry aims to achieve anything, It's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel. James Douglas Morrison Los Angles, 1969-71 ____________________ POEMS 1967-1971 The Opening of The Trunk -Moment of inner freedom when the mind is open & the infinite universe revealed & the soul is left to wander dazed & confus'd searching here & there for teachers & friends. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Moment of Freedom as the prisoner blinks in the sun like a mole from his hole a child's 1st trip away from home That moment of Freedom -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- LAmerica Cold treatment of our empress LAmerica The Transient Universe LAmerica Instant communion and communication lamerica emeralds in glass lamerica searchlights at twi-light lamerica stoned streets in the pale dawn lamerica robed in exile lamerica swift beat of a proud heart lamerica eyes like twenty lamerica swift dream lamerica frozen heart lamerica soldiers doom lamerica clouds & struggles lamerica Nighthawk doomed from the start lamerica "That's how I met her, lamerica lonely & frozen lamerica right from the start" Then stop. Go. The wilderness between. Go round the march. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- he enters stage: Blood boots. Killer storm. Fool's gold. God in a heaven. Where is she? Have you seen her? Has anyone seen this girl? snap shot (projected) She's my sister. Ladies & gentlemen: please attend carefully to these words & events It's your last chance, our last hope. In this womb or tomb, we're free of the swarming streets. The black fever which rages is safely out those doors My friends & I come from Far Arden w/ dances. & new music Everywhere followers accure to our procession. Tales of Kings, gods, warriors and lovers dangled like jewels for your careless pleasure I'm Me! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Can you dig it. My meat is real. My hands - how they move balanced like lithe demons My hair - so twined & writhing The skin of my face - pinch the cheeks My flaming sword tongue spraying verbal fire-flys I'm real. I'm human But I'm not an ordinary man No No No -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- What are you doing here? What do you want? Is it music? We can play music. But you want more. You want something & someone new. Am I right? Of course I am. I know what you want. You want ecstasy Desire & dreams. Things not exactly what they seem. I lead you this way, he pulls that way. I'm not singing to an imaginary girl. I'm talking to you, my self. Let's recreate the world. The palace of conception is burning. Look. See it burn. Bask in the warm hot coals. You're too young to be old You don't need to be told You want to see things as they are. You know exactly what I do Everything -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am a guide to the Labyrinth Monarch of the protean towers on this cool stone patio above the iron mist sunk in its own waste breathing its own breath -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Power I can make the earth stop in it's tracks. I made the blue cars go away. I can make myself invisible or small. I can become gigantic & reach the farthest things. I can change the course of nature. I can place myself anywhere in space or time. I can summon the dead. I can perceive events on other worlds, in my deepest inner mind, & in the minds of others. I can I am -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- People need Connections Writers, heroes, stars, leaders To give life form. A child's sand boat facing the sun. Plastic soldiers in the miniature dirt war. Forts. Garage Rocket Ships Ceremonies, theatre, dances To reassert Tribal need & memories a call to worship, uniting above all, a reversion, a longing for family & the safety magic of childhood. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The grand highway is crowded w/ lovers & searchers & leavers so eager to please & forget. Wilderness. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Now is blessed The rest remembered -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A man rakes leaves into a heap in his yard, a pile, & leans on his rake & burns them utterly. The fragrance fills the forest children pause & heed the smell, which will become nostalgia in several years -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sirens Water Rain & Thunder Jet from the base Hot searing insect cry The Frogs & crickets Doors open & close The smash of glass The Soft Parade An accident Rustle of silk, nylon Watering the dry grass Fire Bells Rattlesnake, whistles, castanets Lawn mower Good Humor man Skates & wagons Bikes -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Where'd you learn about Satan - out of a book Love? - out of a box -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- night of sin (The Fall) -1st sex, a feeling of having done this same act in time before O No, not again -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Between childhood, boyhood, adolescence & manhood (maturity) there should be sharp lines drawn w/ Tests, deaths, feats, rites stories, songs, & judgments -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Men who go out on ships To escape sin & the mire of cities watch the placenta of evening stars from the deck, on their backs & cross the equator & perform rituals to exhume the dead dangerous initiations To mark passage to new levels To feel on the verge of an exorcism a rite of passage To wait, or seek manhood enlightenment in a gun To kill childhood, innocence in an instant -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- LAMERICA Trade-routes guide lines The Vikings & explores Discoverers The unconscious a map of the states The veins of hiways Beauty of a map Hidden connections Fast trampled forest Madness in a whisper neon crackle The hiss of tires A city growls rich vast & sullen like a slow monster come to fat & die -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE ANATOMY OF ROCK The 1st electric wildness came over the people on sweet Friday. Sweat was in the air. The channel beamed, token of power. Incense brewed darkly. Who could tell then that here it would end? One school bus crashed w/ a train. This was the Crossroads. Mercury strained. I couldn't get out of my seat. The road was littered w/ dead jitterbugs. Help, we'll be late for class. The secret flurry of rumor marched over the yard & pinned us unwittingly Mt. fever. A girl stripped naked on the base of the flagpole. In the restrooms all was cool & silent w/ the salt-green of latrines. Blankets were needed. Ropes fluttered. Smiles flattered & haunted. Lockers were pried open & secrets discovered. Ah sweet music. Wild sounds in the night Angel siren voices. The baying of great hounds. Cars screaming thru gears & shrieks on the wild skid & slid into dangerous curves. Favorite corners. Cheerleaders raped in summer buildings. Holding hands & bopping towards Sunday. Those lean sweet desperate hours. Time searched the hallways for a mind. Hands kept time. The climate altered like a visible dance. Night-time women. Wondrous sacraments of doubt Sprang sullen in bursts of fear & guilt in the womb's pit hole below The belt of the beast -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Worship w/ words, w/ sounds, hands, all joyful playful & obscene - in the insane infant. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We can do it on a sunny floor w/ friends & make any sound or movement that comes. Roll on our backs screaming w/ mirth glad in the guilt of our madness. Better to be cool in our worship & gain the respect of the ancient & wise wearing those robes. They know the secret of mind-change reality. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Have you ever seen God?" - a mandala. A symmetrical angel. Felt? yes. Fucking. The Sun. Heard? Music. Voices. Touched? an animal. your hand. Tasted? Rare meat, corn, water & wine. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- An angel runs Thru the sudden light Thru the room A ghost precedes us A shadow follows us And each time we stop We fall -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- No one thought up being; he who thinks he has Step forward -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Shrill demented sparrows bard The sun into being. They rule dawn's Kingdom. The cars - a rising chorus - Then workmen's songs & hammers The children of the schoolyard, a hundred high voices, complete the orchestration -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "In that year there was an intense visitation of energy. I left school & went down to the beach to live. I slept on the roof. At night the moon became a woman�s face. I met the Spirit of Music." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- An appearance of the devil on a Venice canal. Running, I saw a Satan or Satyr, moving beside me, a fleshy shadow of my secret mind. Running, Knowing. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The day I left the beach A hairy Satyr running behind & a little to the right. In the holy solipsism of the young Now I can't walk thru a city street w/ out eying each single pedestrian. I feel their vibes thru my skin, the hair on my neck -it rises. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE FEAR Eternal consciousness in the Void (makes trial & jail seem almost friendly) a Kiss in the Storm (Madman at the wheel gun at the neck space populous & arching coolly) A barn a cabin attic Your own face stationary in the mirrored window fear of restroom's Tragic cold neon I'm freezing animals dead white wings of rabbits grey velvet deer The The Canyon The car a craft in wretched SPACE Sudden movements & your past to warm you in Spiritless Night The Lonely HWY Cold hiker Afraid of Wolves & his own Shadow -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Wolf who lives under the rock has invited me to drink of his cool Water. Not to splash or bathe But leave the sun & know the dead desert night & the cold men who play there. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- a ha Come on, now luring the Traveler Mighty Voyager Curious, into its dark womb The graves grinning Indians of night Westward luring into the brothel, into the blood bath into the Dream The dark Dream of conquest & Voyage into night, Westward into the Night -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- LAMERICA Clothed in sunlight restless in wanting dying of fever Changed shapes of an empire Starling invaders Vast promissory notes of joy Wanton, willful & passive Married to doubt Clothed in great warring monuments of glory How it has changed you How slowly estranged you Solely arranged you Beg you for mercy -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Crossroads a place where ghosts reside to whisper into the ear of travelers & interest them in their fate Hitchhiker drinks: "I call again on the dark hidden gods of the blood" -Why do you call us? You know our price. It never changes. Death of you will give life & free you from a vile fate. But it is getting late. -If I could see you again & talk w/ you, & walk a short while in your company, & drink the heady brew of your conversations, I thought -to rescue a soul already ruined. To achieve respite. To plunder green gold on a pirate raid & bring to camp the glory of old. -As the capesman faces poisoned horns & drinks red victory; the soldier, too, w/ his trophy, a pierced helmet; shuddering his way into inward grace - laughter) Well then. Would you mock yourself? -No. -Soon our voices must become ne, or one must leave. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Forest strong sandals burnt geometry fingers around a fire reading history in blackened books, charcoal sentence in moot splendor Flame-tree Sire, we met inEden The troubled time we had rustling in the night leaves a sniper aimed at our window a kitten mewing in the blasted strong air I must go see -You've found your Voice, friend, after all else I recognize fast the Strong sure tones of a poet was it a question search or of strangling? I wonder We never talked But welcome here to the camp fire Share our meal w/ us & tell us of your life & the hanging -Well 1st I screamed & I was a child again alive Then nothing til the age of 5 & then summers & the racetrack I looked for a girl in New Mexico bars & found jail The prostitute looked out her cell & saw Fuck god scratched on a leprous wall -You're rambling boy what of the rest the jazz hiway he winks. -I got picked up & rode thru the night -did you see any buildings -did I . . . What was I doing of course we danced plenty She had nice sides the cop hit me Stop, I don't remember -The logs are melting we must move on The fire's ending we'll hear more at the next alter [musical interlude] Trees Train-death The American Night We went thru 5 cords of wood this winter -he told me beautiful stories & had the most beautiful visions He was a truly religious man at the end -you know, I like you guys god-damn! (I saw this cat run out of the ocean, one night, and beat-off into a fire) I'm going down to Mexico To this border town I heard about & I'm gonna buy me a girl & bring her back up here & merry her, it's true. This guy told me. A friend of his knew someone who -You're too much -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There was preserved in her The fresh miracle of surprise -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- open The Night is young & full of rest I can't describe the way she's dress'd She'll pander to some strange requests Anything that you suggest Anything to please her guest -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- SIRENS Midnight criminal metabolism of guilt forest Rattlesnakes whistles castanets Remove me from this hall of mirrors This filthy glass Are you her Do you look like that How could you be when no one ever could -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Poet of the call-girl storm She left a note on the bedroom door. "If I'm out, bring me to." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I dropped by to see you late last night But you were out like a light Your head was on the floor & rats played pool w/ your eyes Death is a good disguise for late at night Wrapping all games in its calm garden But what happens when the guests return & all unmask & you are asked to leave for want of a smile I�ll still take you then But I'm your friend -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ODE NEW YORK MAIDENS everyone has Their own magic There is no death so nothing matters High style Flash & forgive me high button shoes clean arrangement messy breeding love's triumph everlasting hope & fulfillment -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE AMERICAN NIGHT for leather accrues The miracle of the streets The scents & smog & pollen of existence Shiny blackness so totally naked she was Totally un-hung-up We looked around lights now on To see our fellow travelers -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 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 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She looked so sad in sleep Like a friendly hand just out of reach A candle stranded on a beach While the sun sinks low an H-bomb in reverse -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Everything human is leaving her face Soon she will disappear into the calm vegetable morass Stay! My Wild Love! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I get my best ideas when the telephone rings & rings. It's no fun To feel like a fool - when your baby's gone. A new ax to my head: Possession. I create my own sword of Damascus. I've done nothing w/ time. A little tot prancing the boards playing w/ Revolution. When out there the World awaits & abounds w/ heavy gangs of murderers & real madmen. Hanging from windows as if to say: I'm bold - do you love me? Just for tonight. A One Night Stand. A dog howls & whines at the glass door (why can't I be in there?) A cat yowls. A car engine revs & races against the grain - dry rasping carbon protest. I put the book down - & begin my own book. Love for the fat girl. When will SHE get here? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the gloom In the shady living room where we lived & died & laughed & cried & the pride of our relationship took hold that summer What a trip To hold your hand & tell the cops you're not 16 no runaway The wino left a little in the old blue desert bottle Cattle skulls the cliche' of rats who skim the trees in search of fat Hip children invade the grounds & sleep in the wet grass 'til the dogs rush out I'm going South! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- MIAMI What can I read her What can I read her on a Sunday Morning What can I do that will somehow reach her on a Sunday Morning I'll read her the news of The Indian Wars Full of criss-calvary, blood & gore Stories to tame & charm & more On a Sunday Morning -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Some wild fires Searchout a dry quiet kiss on leaving -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Like our ancestors The Indians We share a fear of sex excessive lamentation for the dead & an abiding interest in dreams & visions -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- EXPLOSION The mushroom The unfolding instant of creation (fertilisation) not an instant separate from breakfast It all flows down & out, flowing but that instant: not fire & fusion (Fission) but a moment of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating merging in cool slime splendor a crushing of steel & glass & ice (instant in a bar: glasses clash, clink, collide) far-out splendor heat & fire are outward signs of a Small dry mating -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- event in a room event in space a circle Magic rite To call up the godhead spirits, demons The shaman calls: "when radio dark night..." We are eating each other. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Voice of the Serpent dry hiss of age & steam & leaves of gold old books in ruined Temples The pages break like ash I will not disturb I will not go Come, he says softly an Old man appears & moves in tired dance amid the scattered dead gently they stir -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I received an Aztec wall of vision & dissolved my room in sweet derision Closed my eyes, prepared to go A gentle wind inform'd me so And bathed my skin in ether glow -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Drugs are a bet w/ your mind -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The cigarette burn'd my fingertips & dropp'd like a log to the rug below My eyes took a trip to dig the chick Crouch'd like a cat at the next window My ears assembled music out of swarming streets but my mind rebelled at the idiot's laughter The rising frightful idiot laughter Cheering an army of vacuum cleaners -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mouth fills w/ taste of copper. Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters. Gyro on a string, a table. A coin spins. The faces. There is an audience to our drama. Magic shade mask. Like the hero of a dream, he works for us, in our behalf. How close is this to a final cut? I fall. Sweet blackness. Strange world that waits & watches. Ancient dread of non-existence. If it's no problem, why mention it. Everything spoken means that, its opposite, & everything else. I'm alive. I'm dying. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1st wild thrush of fear -A phone rings There is a knock on the door. It's time to go. No. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- JAIL The walls screamed poetry disease & sex an inner whine like a mad machine The Computer | faces of the men | | The wall collage | reading matter | | The Traders (dealers) | | | | | | | dropped in a cave of roaches or rodents -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am a guide to the labyrinth Come & see me in the green hotel Rm. 32 I will be there after 9:30 P.M. I will show you the girl of the ghetto I will show you the burning well I will show you strange people haunted, beast-like, on the verge of evolution -Fear The Lords who are secret among us -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Leaving the phone-booth, I was Struck by a whiff of the weird. Insane old country woman come to nag the haunts of town Hairy legs w/ open sores. From what swamp or under-rock did you crawl to remind to leave -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- LAmerica Androgynous, liquid, happy Heavy Facile & vapid Weighted w/ words Mortgaged soul Wandering preachers, & Delta Tramps Box-cars of heaven New Orleans Nile Sunset -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The form is a plane above the earth, A soldier bails out, leaving his entrails fluttering, billowing, Scoop'd down, windy midwife, wrench'd by the world from her rich belly, my metal mother, ripped cord, down & frozen. Following pilot the eye of the plane; "Great Eye of Night" God on a windscreen, wind- scream, wormwind Trailing. (& hide among women like a toothless bird) Burned by air Burned bad by light in the [gun shot] O Wow he's shot & the scarlet news (hoarse mute confusion of the witness crowd) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Airport. Messenger in the form of a soldier. Green wool. He stood there, off the plane. A new truth, too horrible to bear. There was no record of it anywhere in the ancient signs or symbols. People looked at each other, in the mirror, their children's eyes. Why had it come. There was no escape from it anywhere. A truth too horrible to name. Only a loose puking moan could frame its dark interiors. Only a few could look upon its face w/ calm. Most of the people fell instantly under its dark terror. They looked to the calm ones but saw only a green military coat. Repent! None of the old Things worked. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- disciple Scar death Magic Prison Garden Shelter Princess of Sorrow Wilderness Angel of envy Call Me Tomorrow Bones Landing Gold Arrival -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Street. Steel thrust sucking space. Silent willful turbines, motors raving City of clouds, pirates of air. Land of rainbows & scarlet rare islands. We are here, parables. Silent climbers The breast engine mattered. Monster in drag, a tin damsel Shuddered & flew Cut spent space Crazed ace Collect The cake-walk. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- HORSE LATITUDES The barn is burning The race-track is over Farmers run w/ buckets of water The Horse flesh is burning They're kicking the stalls (panic in a horse's eye That can spread & fill an entire sky.) The clouds flow by & tell a story about the lightning bolt & the mast on the steeple Some people have a hard time describing sailors to the undernourished. The decks are starving Time to throw the cargo over Now down & the high-sailing fluttering of smiles on the air w/ its cool night time disturbance Tropic corridor Tropic Treasure What got us this far to this mild equator Now we need something & something new when all else fails we can whip the horse's eyes & make them cry & sleep -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- France is 1st, Nogales round-up Cross over the border- land of eternal adolescence quality of despair unmatched anywhere on the perimeter Message from the outskirts calling us home This is the private space of a new order. We need saviors To help us survive the journey. Now who will come Now hear this We have started the crossing Who knows? it may end badly The actors are assembled; immediately they become enchanted I, for one, am in ecstasy enthralled. Can I convince you to smile? No wise men now. Each on his own grab your daughter & run -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Oh God, she cried I never knew what it meant to be real I thought all this was a joke, I never let the horror, or the sweetness & the dignity penetrate my brain" "Let me up to see the window. Dark Riders pass in the sunset coming home from raiding parties. The taverns will be full of laughter, wine, & later dancing, later dangerous knife throws. Antonio will be there & that whore, Blue Lady playing cards w/ silver decks & smiling at the night, & full glasses held aloft & spilled to the moon. I'm sad, so full of sadness" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She's selling news in the market Time in the hall The girls of the factory Rolling cigars They haven't invented musak yet So I read to them From The BOOK OF DAYS a horror story from the Gothic age a gruesome romance From the LA Plague I have a vision of America Seen from the air 28,000 ft. & going fast A one-armed man in a Texas parking labyrinth A burnt tree like a giant primeval bird in an empty lot in Fresno Miles & miles of hotel corridors & elevators, filled w/ citizens Motel Money Murder Madness Changed the mood from glad to sadness play the ghost song baby -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- a young woman, bound silently, on a hospital table, obviously pregnant, is gutted & rifled of her empire object of oblivion -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Drugs sex drunkenness battle return to the water-world Sea-belly Mother of man Monstrous sleep-walking gentle swarming atomic world Anomie in social life how can we hate or love or judge in the sea-swarm world of atoms All one, one All How can we play or not play How can we put one foot before us or revolutionize or write -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Does the house burn? So be it. The World, a film which men devise. Smoke drifts thru these chambers Murders occur in a bedroom. Mummers chant, birds hush & coo. Will this do? Take Two. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- each day is a drive thru history -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- BRIGHT FLAGS The great hiway of dawn Stretching to slumber pouring out from her greedy palms a shore, to wander Hesitation & doubt Swiftly ensconced O Viking, your women cannot save you out on the great ship Time has claimed you Coming for you And I came to you for peace And I came to you for gold And I came to you for lies And you gave me fever & wisdom & cries & sorrow & we'll be here the next day the next day & Tomorrow -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There's a belief by the Children of Man which states all will be well Search on man, clam savior Veteran of wars incalculable greed. Search on man, calm savior God-speed & forgive you morning-star, fragrant meadow person girl -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- down down down down down down deep below children of the caves will let their secret fires glow -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- An explosion of birds Dawn Sun strokes the walls An old man leaves the Casino A young man reading pauses on the path to the garden -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bitter winter Fiction dogs are starving The radio is moaning softly calling to the dogs There are still a few animals left out in the yard Sit up all night, talking smoking Count the dead & wait 'til morning Will warm names & faces come again Does the silver forest end? -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- December Isles Hot morning chambers of the New Day Idiot first to awaken (be born) w/ shadows of new play learned men in Sunday best we've had our chance to rest to morn the passing of day to lament the death of our glorious member (she whispers secret messages of love in the garden to her friends, the bees) The garden would be here forevermore -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mexican parachute Blue green pink Invented of Silk & stretched on grass Draped in the trees of a Mexican Park T-shirt boys in their Slumbering art -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -I fear that he's been maim'd beyond all recognition He hears them come & murmur over his corpse. Street Pizza. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- funny, I keep expecting a knock on the door well, that's what you get for living around people a Knock? would shatter my dream's illusions deportment & composure The struggle of a poor poet to stay out of the grips of novels & gambling & journalism -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A quality of ignorance, self-deception may be necessary to the poet's survival -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Actors must make us think they're real Our friends must not make us think we're acting They are, though, in slow Time My wild words slip into fusion & risk losing the solid ground So stranger, get wilder still Probe the Highlands -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bourbon is a wicked brew, recalling courage milk, refined poison of cockroach & tree-bark, leaves & fly-wings scraped from the land, a thick film; menstrual fluids no doubt add their splendor. It is the eagle's drink. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Why do I drink? So that I can write poetry. Sometimes when it's all spun out and all that is ugly recedes into a deep sleep There is an awakening and all that remains is true. As the body is ravaged the spirit grows stronger. Forgive me Father for I know what I do. I want to hear the last Poem of the last Poet. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE CONNECTORS -What is connection? -When 2 motions, thought to be infinite & mutually exclusive, meet in a moment. -Of Time? -Yes. -Time does not exist. There is no time. -Time is a straight plantation. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THE CONNECTORS The diamond shone like broken glass Upon the midnight street And all atop the walls were wet Their white eyes glint & sleek Then from afar a gnome appeared An angel flashed on furry feet The boulevard became a river While waiting crowds began to quiver I was in a motel watching Whiskey in my hand Her breath was soft, the wind was warm Someone in a room was born -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Accomplishments: To make works in the face of the void To gain form, idenity To raise from the herd-crowd Public favor public fervor even the bitter Poet-Madman is a clown Treading the boards -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cold electric music Damage me Rend my mind w/ your dark slumber Cold temple of steel Cold minds alive on the strangled shore Veterans of foreign wars We are the soldiers of Rock & Roll Wars -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Whether to be a great cagey perfumed beast dying under the sweet patronage of Kings & exist like luxuriant flowers beneath the emblems of their Strange empire or by mere insouciant faith slap them, call their cards spit on fate & cast hell to flames in usury by dying, nobly we could exist like innocent trolls propagate our revels & give the finger to the gods in our private bedrooms let's rather, maybe, perhaps, get fucking out in the open, & by swelling, jubilantly Magnificently, end them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jim Morrison,1966-1971. 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