Light My Fire
From the Summer of Love this snake slithers
Exposes its fangs from a sleeve of gold
Shakes the Venice beaches to the apocalypse of Viet Nam
A song
A poem
Black leather pants wrapped around Apollo
The End
A worldwide revolution lasting 11 minutes 42 seconds
How many tens of millions of people have had their lives changed
For so many decades
By a trance in front of that candle?
When all the tune was ever meant to be
Was a sad brief break up song jotted down beautifully
By a heart sick boy
Who sat homeless on the shore of the Pacific
Beneath a wharf
Smoking grass
Ode to his lost girl Mary Werbelow
I wonder if his later infamous wife Pam
Ever knew all those famous love songs
Engorged by her man’s baritone voice
And lullabied across the first three albums
Were written for Mary?
Perhaps she did
Which may explain her private psychotic insecurity
And his clown-like indifference
And their mutual moonlight drive into madness
I realize this is possibly spoiling yours and my
Image
Of what we’ve loved imagining for all this time
But aren’t we all shadows behind a flame?
Ok
His
A blaze
While most of us just slowly burn
But revolution is a great lie of light
Fills its own crystal sail
Blinds everything in its sight
Born mainly from a young man’s pain
And his scratch on flint of a pen
Scorching a piece of paper
Over a romance that should have ruled a lifetime
But was lost
And he knew it
Let it burn
Became something more
Or someplace less
Nonetheless
Ashes.
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