October 20, 199_
Jim Morrison, I saw you today at a Chinese Buffet (6.95 all you can eat).
And I could not help but notice:
The dull complacency and exhaustion
That I saw in your eyes;
An obese stumbling gait imitating
Your once svelte Lizard King Prowl;
A resigned beard,
An indifferent slouch,
A southern drawl (scarcely audible)
Has replaced your butterfly scream.
Is it the tyranny of boredom?
A dream deferred:
To the safety of TV dinners
And the comfort of insipid re-runs
Before bedtime.
How was it?
To grow old and die at 27
Then: To start over again.
A play-thing of the gods.
The frenzied productivity
Of acid-fueled creativity;
A papier-mache soul,
A black and blue ego.
Everyday was Saturday,
A lifetime of summers
In only six years.
What was it like?
To die nightly
And live only to die:
Prurient fodder for the public eye.
How is it?
Now: Mysterious no more.
Burned inside-out
From your wandering, aimless rebellion.
Now it’s Church on Sunday:
A banana peel reality.
Once you told us to wake up but have you
yourself awoken?
Trapped in this new-fangled slumber.
Do you remember? The message:
Even now its cadence echoes, falling
On the deaf ears of idle purchasers.
October, 1991
