Poetry

THE FEAR

Eternal consciousness
in the Void
(makes trial and jail seem almost
friendly)

a Kiss in the Storm

(Madman at the wheel
gun at the neck
scape 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 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

POWER

I can make the earth stop in it's tracks.

I made theblue 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 inspace 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.

THE ANATOMY OF ROCK

The 1st electric wildness cameover the people on sweet Friday.

Sweat was in the air.

The channel beamed,token of power.

Incense brewed darkly.

Who could tell them that hereit would end?

One school bus crashed w/ a train.

This was the Crossroads. Mercury stained. I couldn't get out of my seat.

The road was litteredw/ dead jitterbugs. Help,we'll be late for class.

The secret flurry of rumormarched over the yard &pinned us unwittinglyMt. fever.

A girl stripped naked on the base of the flagpole.

In the restrooms all was cool & silentw/ the salt-green of latrines.

Blankets were needed. Ropes fluttered.

Smiles flattered & haunted.

Lockers 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 road Where the tires skip & slide into dangerous curves.

Favorite corners.

Cheerleaders raped in summer buildings.

Holding hands & bopping toward 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

This is my own personal favourite!

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

The Lost Writings of Jim Morrison Wilderness Volume 1
Page 61