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.