From:
The New Creatures
pg. 95 - 102
I
Snakeskin jacket
Indian eyes
Brilliant hair
He moves in disturbed
Nile Insect
Air
II
You parade thru the soft summer
We watch eager rifle decay
Your wilderness
Your teeming emptiness
Pale forests on verge of light
decline.
More of your miracles
More of your magic arms
III
Bitter grazing in sick pastures
Animal sadness & the daybed
Whipping.
Iron curtains pried open.
The elaborate sun implies
dust, knives, voices.
Call out of the Wilderness
Call out of fever, receiving
the wet dreams of the Aztec King.
IV
The banks are high and overgrown
rich w/ warm green danger.
Unlock the canals.
Punish our sister’s sweet playmate distress.
Do you want us that way w/ the rest?
Do you adore us?
When you return will you
Still want to play w/ us?
V
Fall down.
Strange gods arrive in fast enemy poses.
Their shirts are soft marring
Cloth and hair together.
All along their arms ornaments
conceal veins bluer than blood
pretending welcome.
Soft lizard eyes connect.
Their soft drained insect cries erect
new fear, where fears reign.
The rustling of sex against their skin.
The wind withdraws all sound.
Stamp your witness on the punished ground.
VI
Wounds, stags, arrows
Hooded flashing legs plunge
near the tranquil women.
Startling obedience from the pool people.
Astonishing caves to plunder.
Loose, nerveless ballets of looting.
Boys are running.
Girls are screaming, falling.
The air is thick w/ smoke.
Dead crackling wires dance pools
of sea blood.
VII
Lizard woman
w/ your insect eyes
w/ your wild surprise.
Warm daughter of silence.
Venom.
Turn your back w/ a slither of moaning wisdom.
The unblinking blind eyes
behind walls new histories rise
and wake growling & whining
the weird dawn of dreams.
Dogs lie sleeping.
The wolf howls.
A creature lives out the war.
A forest.
A rustle of cut words, choking
river.
VIII
The snake, the lizard, the insect eye
The huntsman’s green obedience.
Quick, in raw, time, serving
stealth & slumber,
grinding warm forests into restless lumber.
Now for the valley.
Now for the syrup hair.
Stabbing the eyes, widening skies
Behind the skull bone.
Swift end of hunting.
Hug round the swollen torn breast
& red-stained throat.
The hounds gloat.
Take her home.
Carry our sister’s body, back
to the boat.
© Jim Morrison
Simon and Schuster N.Y.
1969, 1970, 1987