Trying to pout like Jim Morrison

Jim Morrison

Haunts my thoughts.

Lingering he leers at me

And sneers at my

Attempts

At writing.

 

I try snarling back

In an appropriate manner,

But other things

Distract me

And capture my attention.

 

Jim smoulders, and

Pouts at me ironically

“What, do I not inspire you;

Am I not hot enough?”

 

I roll my eyes,

And gesture up and down

And around

at the faces which

Float around my head,

incessantly demanding.

I wave my arms,

Lash out, kick, scream,

Throw things, break things,

Rage and rant and threaten more

With an arm raised high

To finally strike-

 

Jim

Finally smiles.

Sheepishly he steps back now

And turns back towards the darkness.

 

“No!” I cry out,

“Don’t go,

there’s so much more

I still want to know!”

 

He just shrugs

And glances to the left.

I look right,

in the same direction

and into a mirror

to see my own

wild, crazed, frantic face

Staring back at me,

Eyes flashing with a loathing

Of losing my

Old reflection in the

Noise and the space,

 

Which brings me back to

The room.

 

In my head there is always

The echo of Jim Morrison

Laughing,

and my eyes smoulder with the

Sense of his passion.

In my minds eye

I can see him,

Standing slightly aloof,

Entirely self- aware,

Nodding his head to

The beat of the music

Throbbing inside of his head-

Always nodding, always

Vibrating with that beat

And the raw force

Of his own

cosmic rhythm.

 

When I focus and listen intently,

I can hear it as well,

It filters through

and I am able to

follow its pathways and

Find my own voice.

 

Nodding along to Jim Morrison’s

Beat, I can still feel his feet

pressing down lightly

On the floor of my mind,

Shuffling slightly and

Always tapping…

Tapping…

Tapping…

Tapping…

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