in the dream he asked me if
i would like him to read me some of his poetry -

i said i would love him to and we
set off for his house -

but we seemed to keep travelling
left, although i knew his house was on the right,

and suddenly i was in the basket of a
huge crane, lifted higher and higher

600 ft, 700 ft, i couldn’t find jim
and i crouched down in the basket-

with my hands over my head -
and everything was like

edvard munch's  ‘the scream’
and then i awoke and all i could

think about was seeing jim morrison
and how i’d have liked him to read me his poems.

you are star, you are moon,
a blur of white in the rounded night,

tranquil as the narrow streets at nocturne,
where the tall streetlight breathes

its half-moon yellows, love flowers
behind frosty windows; behind

avenues of dark stone and gothic
eaves the dust of the moon

starts to settle, weaves a golden web.

sweet as our lips,
summer boy,

dream of blue stone,
as the night flows like a tide,

burgeoning like a drifting
cloud,

you are my boy of dream,
blossomed from water
and moon,  from crystal light -

i long for you
summer boy,

as the last stars vanish,
blunted like the hills.

Out blossoms the fractal of endless colors..
Inmost to the outmost reach of the oblivion and creation thoughts..
The convolution gyre where your thought first formed..
A helix of fragments that turn into a memory..
A memory where I remember you from a dream..