The
Horse Latitudes
by Jim Morrison
When
the still sea conspires in armor,
And her sullen and aborted currents
breed tiny monsters,
True sailing is dead,
Awkward instant,
And the first animal is jettisoned,
Legs furiously pumping,
Their stiff green gallop And heads bob up,
Poise, Delicate, Pause, Consent,
In mute nostril agony,
Carefully refined And sealed over.
Paintings
Pterodactyl
Point
Horse
Latitudes
Desert
Song
Lizard
Love
