True to his Demons

I imagine an arm out of the bathtub, a lifeless face, some wet long hair, a cold body. I imagine the poems, remained to be written, the scream of freedom never come out of his throat, the myth that won on the boy, the Seventies just glimpsed. Today is the 4th of July in 1971 and Pamela Courson is widow for twenty-four hours. Continua