on the morning he turned sixty, Peter stood in the shower and looked down.
he thought of Jim Morrison;

All join now and lament the death of my cock
A tongue of knowledge in the feathered night
Boys get crazy in the head and suffer
I sacrifice my cock on the altar of silence

it was then that Peter decided to plan a funeral for his cock.
it was dead to him, and dead to Margaret years ago.
it was a pathetic little slug.
like him.
flaccid and lame.

the strangest combination of laughter and tears echoed against the tiled walls.


6 thoughts on “lament

  1. Awe … I didn’t know if I should cry or laugh!!
    Can I say … Brilliant… or am I repeating myself?
    I love coming here – you just never know what you’ll find!

  2. prior to this, i always thought that piece was one of the goofiest in morrison’s canon, but you have totally thrown it into a different perspective. thanks for that.

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