On the day I was born, Morrison died

En-route, to our purgatories, we did collide

White flowers were tattooed to the swell of Mom’s womb,
while Dad rolled the boulder away from Jim’s tomb

Now rise sweet child! Spoke the mid-wife
(acid on her tongue)
The hour has come, the big bell has rung

and like a good child, I did as I was told
and took leave of the poet, just before he went cold.

 

 

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “The End

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s