Jane

standin’ on the corner
suitcase in my hand

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

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

you know they’re sayin’:

sweet jane
ah, sweet jane
sweet jane

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, played for hisself, me just there hearing, “Sweet Jane.”

Then, he unslung the guitar. And passed it to me. So I could give it a try.

I commenced to fumbling with the strings. Trying to get it right.

Eventually, I hit, more or less correctly, the first couple chords (and in “Sweet Jane” there are really only two chords). And so began feeling a little better about myself.

Then I noticed Lou had settled himself into an easy chair. Had turned on a TV (and the sound was pretty dern loud). And was eating something like popcorn.

I felt kinda forlorn. Left behind.

I was playing his song. But he was paying me no mind.

I pass through these dreams, and pass throughthey pass through me. But generally I have no idea what they might mean.

Sometimes I pass some crippled day-time gibbering verbal accounting of these dreams on to the wise—and these wise are always women—and, sometimes, through them, the light, it do shine.

For instance, in re the above-referenced Lou Reed dream, after I had cripple-jabbered it onto her, AvoMayor, she did say:

i think that is a perfect Lou Reed dream. How many times do you think he played Sweet Jane in the course of his career?? But he’s retired and trying to just relax now, so he has given it to you..

Use it wisely : ) No pressure or anything………

now jack he is a banker
and jane she is a clerk
and both them save their moneys, honeys
all when they come home from work

sittin’ there by the fire
radio does play
a little classical music from
march of the wooden soldiers

you can hear jack say
says: jane
oh now: baby sweet jane
ah: sweet jane

Heigh-ho.

You just have to love everyone and anyone and all of one, as you would love yourself.

That’s all it is.

All the words, that are other words, are wasted.

anyone who had a heart
they wouldn’t turn around and break it

and anyone who’s ever played a part
they wouldn’t turn around and hate it

they’d say: jane

sweet jane

ah, jane

sweet jane

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When I Worked

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