poetry

Look where we worship.

# # #

We all live in the city.

The city forms - often physically, but inevitably
psychically - a circle. A Game. A ring of death
with sex at its center. Drive toward outskirts
of city suburbs. At the edge discover zones of
sophisticated vice and boredom, child prosti-
tution. But in the grimy ring immediately surround-
ing the daylight business district exists the only
read crowd life of our mound, the only street
life, night life. Diseased specimens in dollar
hotels, low boarding houses,bars, pawn shops,
burlesques and brothels, in dying arcades which
never die, in streets and streets of all-night
cinemas.

# # #

When play dies it becomes the Game.

When sex dies it becomes Climax.

# # #

All games contain the idea of death.

poesia de Jim Morrison