The Jane outside my window is not real.
She’s just a fevered dream I can’t describe,
a searing pain that I don’t want to feel,
an intoxicant that I can’t imbibe.
My mind conjures so many listless souls.
I see them out the corner of my eye.
They have a gravity, I feel its pull,
but that force is only the devil’s lie.
Where do they go when I turn to see them?
Do they rain down to some dark underworld?
Or, tis I who fade from the world of men?
A sightless, silent brute in fetal curl?
Taking you by the lapels, I must ask,
what do you see revealed in all these masks?
Tiger Riding for Beginners 
Hi again. Inspiring. Is and was the referred Jane of… the Jains of Our World Legends or that of the Plain. Type. Or none or others.?. The mood dark too. Tops. Still. Dark. Lil.
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Maybe it was Tarzan’s Jane or Calamity Jane? I have a rule-of-thumb: When I read poetry, I get to interpret it, but the poetry I write I leave to anyone who reads it to interpret it. So I’ll let you decide.
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Nice thoughts. Didn’t even think of that Pair. Thanks for the tip.
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