Yeah, July 3rd.
In the name of Wallace Fowlie having the authority and
interest to write Rebel as Poet: Rimbaud and Jim
Morrison - elevating Jim Morrison from prima donna,
neandrathal rockstar to poet - and in ritualistic
tradition of the ancient lieneage of poetry and its fine
poets -
Happy Death-Day, Jim, old friend! I've already started
lifting my glass to you again at this time!
Ode to
Rimbaud and Jim Morrison:
Poetry in Exile
(Dedicated to Wallace Fowlie – author of Rebel as Poet:
Rimbaud and Jim Morrison, James B. Duke Professor
Emeritus of French and Italian Literature,
Duke
University
.
An incredible literary mind - noble human being and
friend.)
Warm catacomb brain;
Breeding climates
Aborting fear
Thinking beyond
Childhood worms
Fingered, plucked, split
In half lives
The earth wet & wounded
Where do you come from?
It doesn’t matter.
Blue t.v. light at
3 a.m.
She’s shown us a secret
Bloodletting. Roses
In her hidden garden
A claim for sanctuary
Her prayers and devotion
Protect the pale palace of wisdom
Gained from spearheaded experience
And books – ones worth reading
Who among you will run
With the hunt once morning comes
Offering jeweled gifts for success
Safe sleep around an inviting campfire
A proud military background
Bright military man
Yet, at home, he
Takes out the trash – disciplined
Mum is at the helm of central command
In the citadels, streets filled w/ drowned horses
Running away to go
A trip at hand,
Walking, wondering,
Stumbling through neon groves
Alone at last
With the company of friendly strangers
Refuge in snarling smiles
Charisma built for speed, endurance to hold out
Bottles that clang in afternoon – midnite –
Consume the time of an inquisitive manner
Muddy boots
An ancient hallway
Masks from
Africa
Fire, Sea, Stars, Blue Earth
Awake. Live dreams
Is this real?
Is there another?
A vast radiant universe
Naked couples gander –
The quiet side of dawn
Morning bleeds sun
Penetrates blackness
Stoned in soft luxuriant clothes
Beautiful and compellingly fucked-up
Crazy in love
Desperate for death
Greetings from the unknown
Travels for exploration
Travel as routine business
Drunk as an ___expression
A lifestyle too polished & gritty
Poor students, naïve and pretty
Here’s the path!
It’s treacherous
A wonderful tragedy
Celebrated life
True to spirit
Energy in a void
And the climax next to an abyss
Chosen in exile – Living Theatre
A Season in Hell – The Drunken Boat
March 27th, 2003
John Alan Conte` JR
http://www.mystrawhat.com/vampire/ode.htm
