Sweet Jane

3 Mar

Blueness back doing good work again.

red

standin’ on the corner
suitcase in my hand

jack’s in his corset and jane’s in her vest, baby
me, i’m in a rocknroll band

ridin’ a stutz bear cat
those were different times
the poets studied sweet reedrules of verse
the ladies rolled their eyes

you know they’re sayin’: 

ukraine
ah, sweet jane
sweet ukraine

I dream a lot.

Yeah. Well. Obviously.

But, I mean, I also dream, when I’m asleep.

Like, this afternoon, I awoke—like any cat, I sleep, and wake, all through the day, and all through the night—from a dream where I was at Lou Reed’s house.

Lou was there; there in his house. In the age and incarnation of the photo featured there just above. Settled; serene. Aged: experienced: passed. Beyond all the bullshit. In the clear.

There, in his house, Lou, he slung over his shoulder a guitar, and, naturally, effortlessly, clear as pure water…

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