Isn't it that way for everyone, the friends gone?
Certainly it was for the girl and boy.
Sylvia to the Moonies, Al to stroke,
Susan to vodka on tranquilizer,
Ed to the drugs he thought would save them all.
Then Morrison to a night with a telephone book.
Drawing her finger down the names,
she whispered to the girl, Can you find me?
When Morrison's words broke, when she
wrenched the door and plunged between headlights,
her friends joined arms to hold her with them.
The boy manned a shift through the sightless hours
though Morrison hid from him and cursed him, only him,
cursed his cold hands, his cold, cold eyes,
called him Fuhrer, Goat King.
He never turned aside.
But now he is lost too, to deepening forest,
the fence posts down and night coming on.
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