An American Prayer (by James Douglas "Jim" Morrison) - Part 2

DAWN'S HIGHWAY

Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding Ghosts crowd the

young child's fragile eggshell mind.

Me and my ‑ah‑ mother and father ‑ and a grandmother and a

grandfather ‑ were driving through the desert, at dawn, and a truck

load of Indian workers had either hit another car, or just ‑ I don't

know what happened ‑ but there were Indians scattered all over the

highway, bleeding to death.

So the car pulls up and stops. That was the first time I tasted fear. I

musta' been about four ‑ like a child is like a flower, his head is just

floating in the breeze, man. The reaction I get now thinking about it,

looking back ‑ is that the souls of the ghosts of those dead Indians

...maybe one or two of 'em...were just running around freaking out,

and just leaped into my soul. And they're still in there.

Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding Ghosts crowd the

young child's fragile eggshell mind.

Blood in the streets in the town of New Haven Blood stains the roofs

and the palm trees of Venice Blood in my love in the terrible summer

Bloody red sun of Phantastic L.A.

Blood screams her brain as they chop off her fingers Blood will be

born in the birth if a nation Blood is the rose of mysterious union

Blood on the rise, it's following me.

Indian, Indian what did you die for? Indian says, nothing at all.

***

NEWBORN AWAKENING

Gently they stir, gently rise The dead are newborn awakening With

ravaged limbs and wet souls Gently they sigh in rapt funeral

amazement Who called these dead to dance? Was it the young

woman learning to play the ghost song on her baby grand? Was it the

wilderness children? Was it the ghost god himself, stuttering, cheering,

chatting blindly? I called you up to anoint the earth I called you to

announce sadness falling like burned skin I called you to wish you

well

To glory in self like a new monster And now I call you to pray

***

TO COME OF AGE

A military station in the desert.

Can we resolve the past Lurking jaws, joints of time? The Base To

come of age in a dry place Holes and caves.

My friend drove and hour each day from the mountains The bus gives

you a hard‑on with books in your lap Someone shot the bird in the

afternoon dance show They gave out free records to the best couple

Spades dance best, from the hip.

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