The following poem is currently under consideration in the offices of a prospective publisher here in the Bay Area. They've been sitting on it since July '02 and I hope it poses no breach of trust or policy regarding prior publication for me to post it on this tiny, out of the way strand of the www.

I don't much care at this point. As I say, they've been sitting on it for more than five months. Besides, I've been spinning The Doors penultimate album, Morrison Hotel the last couple of days, it's about time to update this blog, and Jim is on my mind.

For Jim with Aplogies

I�ve seen the end that waits,
with open arms and starry eyes,
for each and every one of us.

I took a chance
and rode with Jim
at the back of that big blue bus.

Iridescent, a scale rolling
on a serpent�s tail,
we drove
and drove
to a sandy, fly flecked cove.

"The Lake of Days,� said Jim
and I followed him
from the bus into motionless air.

�Do you see,� he asked, pointing,
�someone sailing there?�

The fog haunted water
revealed a craft, a dinghy, perhaps,
or a raft, small and distant.

�That�s me,� he said,
�and you. We�re going to that place
we always guessed but never knew.
Where the least is the greatest
and the greatest the least.�

Silent as a stone I closed my eyes,
gazing West, feeling East.