This is my forest
a sea of wires.
This gaggle of vision
is my flame.
These trees are men,
the engineers.
And a tribe of farmers
on their Sunday off.
Gods - the directors.
Cameras, greek
Centaurs on the boom,
sliding w/ silent
Mobile grace
Toward me -
a leaping clown
In the great sun's
eye.
Grand danger there
in curved thigh.
The avenging finger -
lord.
/Jim Morrison, The American Night
*
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