Lost Writings of Jim Morrison

[from the book Wilderness]

I am troubled

Immeasurably

In 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

#2

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

#3

“open”

The Night is young

            &full of rest

I can’t describe the

way she’s dress’d

She’ll pander to some strange

request

Anything that you suggest

Anything to please her guest