This is something I wrote for a poetry contest on the site nearly a year ago. I hope you enjoy it.
I sat myself down with the leather-clad poet
My mission: to capture his essence in ink.
The sleepy eyed singer of Doors fame waited
as my head filled with nothing; I forgot how to think.
The Lizard King put up his feet on the table
and hummed a few notes as I stood on the brink
of finding the ultimate question for him
He pulled out a whiskey – we both took a drink.
The questions were flowing, and so was the booze.
The answers I wrote soon became indistinct
Jim drank most of the bottle, I’m sure! He was soon
yawning in Technicolor into the sink.
Jim dropped his pants, mooned the world from his door
and shouting he stumbled, then fell to the floor
I wish I could write the account of our meeting,
But my notes begin “Jim,…”; I can make out no more.
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