The black-walled flat – as damp as dark –
Where smoke and carpet merged and flowed,
And promise drained, and talent flayed
Its beauty with a knife of song.
And through the liquid of my eyes
I sensed the air begin its ebb,
It sucked another day to death:
A Hammond swirled, a poet curled.
The concrete stairwell, soaked in gold,
Was echoing a dusk or dawn,
As rain began corralling drains,
And woke that sleeper from its pains.
Out there a dog lay writhed in bones:
In dereliction, howled alone.
Remembering hearing LA Woman by The Doors in a squat in Blackburn, Lancashire, 1987.
Gavin R Jones 
cuts with a knife.
And through the liquid of my eyesI
sensed the air begin its ebb,
I loved these lines.
The poem is very beautiful and poignant at the same time.
I particularly like the sharp imagery in this verse:
And through the liquid of my eyes
I sensed the air begin its ebb,
It sucked another day to death:
A Hammond swirled, a poet curled.
nice tactile poem…ha…made me think back to my garage band days…and songs…i know LA Woman…hehe…sucked another day to death…i like that…whew on the closing stanza…gotta watch out playing the lone wolf…
The “knife of song” is a brilliant image. I’ve felt that balde many times over the years….
“Where smoke and carpet merged and flowed.” This poem felt familiar to me as well.
Great stuff. Powerful images. I preferred Morrison’s singing to his poetry and this is a tribute more than worthy of the Doors!
I love that song. You actually got to hear them do it live? Now THAT’S A MEMORY!!!!