Jane at Sixteen

sunglasses-love-woman-flowersBy KD Rose

Jane at sixteen

Plays disco lampshade minds,

Climbs oak trees up to heaven,

Gives every man a dream,

Says, “I’ve become the hottest psychic

This side of the Pacific,”

Singing every toolbox

Like an electric art machine,

Takes toddies from the stars,

Never says the play’s the thing,

Finds mortal kisses weary,

Will never wear a ring.

Jane at sixteen

Lives in drowsy promenade,

Like a drunk, holy queen,

She swears the dream’s alive.


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