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Poems 1966-1971 - Jim Morrison   

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

Cold treatment of our empress
The Transient Universe
Instant communion and

emeralds in glass
searchlights at twi-light
stoned streets in the pale dawn
robed in exile
swift beat of a proud heart
eyes like twenty
swift dream
frozen heart
soldiers doom
clouds & struggles

doomed from the start
"That's how I met her,
lonely & frozen
right from the start"

Then stop.
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

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


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,
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


               Now is blessed
                  The rest

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

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
Rattlesnake, whistles, castanets
Lawn mower
Good Humor man
Skates & wagons

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,
& 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


guide lines
The Vikings & explores
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.
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
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
The belt of the beast

Worship w/ words, w/
sounds, hands, all
joyful playful &
obscene - in the insane

Old men worship w/long
noses, old soulful eyes.
Young girls worship,
exotic, indian, w/ robes
who make us feel foolish
for acting w/ our eyes.
Lost in the vanity of the senses
which got us where we are.
Children worship but seldom
act at it. Who needs
temples & couches & TV.

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

"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.


Eternal consciousness
   in the Void
(makes trial & jail seem almost

a Kiss in the Storm

(Madman at the wheel
gun at the neck
space populous & arching

A barn
a cabin attic

Your own face
in the mirrored window

fear of restroom's
Tragic cold

I'm freezing


white wings of

grey velvet deer

The The Canyon

The car a craft
in wretched

Sudden movements

& your past 
to warm you
in Spiritless

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
Not to splash or bathe
But leave the sun
& know the dead desert
& 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


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

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
  & 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)

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

 (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


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


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

New York Maidnes

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
By 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 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


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
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!


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
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


                              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
         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.


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


Androgynous, liquid, happy
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

	(& 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)

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
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.
None of the old Things worked.

  of Sorrow
Wilderness Angel
  of envy
Call Me

Street. Steel thrust sucking space.
Silent willful turbines, motors

City of clouds, pirates of air.

Land of rainbows & scarlet rare

We are here, parables.

Silent climbers

The breast engine mattered.
Monster in drag, a tin damsel
Shuddered & flew

Cut spent space
Crazed ace

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 

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
I, for one, am in ecstasy
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
a horror story from the Gothic age
a gruesome romance
From the LA

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
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

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



children of the caves will let their
              secret fires glow

An explosion of birds
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

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

He hears them come &
 murmur over his corpse.

Street Pizza.

    I keep expecting a
knock on the door
well, that's what you
get for living around

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

Actors must make us think
they're real
Our friends must not
make us think we're acting

They are, though, in slow

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 

-Of Time?


-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


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
   dying under the
      sweet patronage
       of Kings
& exist like luxuriant
   flowers beneath the
   emblems of their
      Strange empire
or by mere insouciant
   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

let's rather, maybe,
   get fucking out in
      the open, & by
   swelling, jubilantly
Magnificently, end them.

Jim Morrison, 1966-1971. Wilderness.