Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Sweet Jane

She started with a kiss and a hurricane.
There was no memory of the events, just muffled sounds.
There is always a baby
no one talks about.

She came to my house to unwind.
Like so many years
that won't dissolve.
The pain lingers on the open air.

Her voice was still good.
Her body, a little lighter.
The nicotine patch and AA
kept the secrets and we had nothing

to say really.
The haunting had stopped
when we dried up.
The house seemed just like any.

I think she's in San Francisco letting the songs
guide her.
Or so she says.
I wanted to hear

her real name.
But sometimes all a person
can give
is evidence.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home