Lorna Jean

She spent another hour making Eddie Vedder's babies;
With her motor-atic boyfriend from the drawer beside her bed.
It's the evening she likes spending when she's in that kind of moment
When she's in that mood of loving, all the men she's never met.

It's a Friday, and it's summer, and the windows all are open,
Can that be the sound of howlin' by the coyotes* to the moon?
Or is that sound just Lorna calling out to her own nightmares?
If it is then let us all hope that the morning will come on soon.

How did she get here? This Lorna, this child?
How did she get here? This woman, this night?
Lorna Jean- who wanders in shadows in darkness
Lorna Jean - who calls for her lovers each night

And who will find Lorna in darkness?
And who will awake with her upon the first light?

She's writing about theories of her own de-evolution
Using pens built of pieces upon the thoughts of lost ideas
It's the evening she likes spending when she's in that kind of moment
Disembowling, desecrating and embellishing her fears

It's a Sunday, in the winter, and the shades are never open,
Can that be the sound of fire, with wood logs crackling by the moon?
Or is that sound just Lorna calling out to her own desires?
If it is then let us all hope that the morning will come on soon.

(Improvisation section-- lasts for 12 bars- sitar, dumbek, and brass, slide guitar)

© 2007 Cathe Jones