Friday, December 3, 2010

Lost Writings of Jim Morrison

[from the book Wilderness]

I am troubled
In your eyes

I am struck
By the feather
of your soft

The sound of glass
Speaks quick

And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain

She looked so sad in sleep
Like a friendly hand
            Just out of each
A candle stranded on
            A beach
While the sun sinks low
An H-bomb in reverse

The Night is young
            &full of rest
I can’t describe the
way she’s dress’d
She’ll pander to some strange
Anything that you suggest
Anything to please her guest

No comments:

Post a Comment