St. Louis Arena, November 9, 1968
I'm ten rows back, walk down the aisle.
What force is pulling me toward Jimmy?
He sits, slump-shouldered, sad, now looking dead:
I am like a camera just three feet from his head.
Perspiration, like holy water, drips from his hair.
I am beside myself. White-shirted god, I stare
Into the face of this bewildered man I've never met.
Black leather pants shine from his dripping sweat.
His gaze meets mine; I am undone.
Who said eternity (or rock and roll) was so much fun?
Soft are his eyes and pure, much like a boy's.
I hear him speak strange words of blaring noise.
The transformation--when it comes--will send me reeling.
I freeze, Jim is the Lizard King.
Lost in a wall of sound, shun time and place, avert my eyes.
He closes his, forever shuts both doors.
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