It's four
morning,
the end of December.
I'm writing you now just to see if you're better.
New York
is cold, but I like where I'm living.
There's music on Clinton Street all through the evening.
Tell me you're building your house
deep in the desert.
Are you living on nothing now?
Hope you're keeping some kind of record,
yes.
Jane came by
with a lock of your hair.
Said you gave it to her
that night
when you planned to go clear.
Did you ever go clear?
Well, the last time we saw you,
you looked so much older.
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder.
You stood in the station,
and you met every train.
But she never showed up.
I mean, Lily Marlain.
Treated some woman to a
flake of your life.
And when she got home,
she was nobody's wife,
yes.
See you there with a rose in your teeth.
One more thin gypsy thief.
Well, I see Jane's awake.
Oh.
She sends her regards.
Well, what can I tell you?
What can I tell you?
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you.
I guess I forgive you.
I'm glad that you stood in my way.
And if you ever come by here,
be it for Jane or for me,
I want you to know your enemy is sleeping.
I want you to know you were murderous free,
yes.
And thanks for the trouble you took from her eyes.
I thought it was there for good.
So you never really tried at all.
Jane
came by with a lot of your hair.
Said you gave it to her that night
when you planned to go clear.
Sincerely,
a friend.