by Jim Morrison
& the cool fluttering rotten wind
& a child's handprint on picture window
& the guncocked held on the shoulder
& fire in the night waiting, in a darkened house for a cruel insane breed from town to arrive
& come poking thru smoke
& the fuel stacks & ashes for milk
& the evil leer on their faces barking w/triumph
Who will not stop them?
The hollow tree, where we three slept & dreamed in the movement of whirling shadows & grass
Tired rustle of leaves
An oldman stirs the dancers w/ his old dance
darkening swift shadows lean on the meat of forests to allow breathing
Gently they stir
Gently rise
The dead are new-born awakening
w/ ravaged limbs & wet souls
Gently they sigh in rapt funeral amazement
Who called these dead to dance?
Was it the young woman learning to play the "Ghost Song" on her baby grand?
Was it the wilderness children?
Was it the Ghost-God himself, stuttering, cheering, chatting blindly?
----I called you up to anoint the earth.
I called you to announce sadness falling like burned skin
I called you to wish you well, to glory in self like a new monster
& now I call on you to pray:
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