::04:01:08::

::: Lé Jean, Amy and Mr. Freeze :::

Jean Girbaud
Was now
Scaling the outside
Of the brownstone
In his designer jeans
I should say
His friends
Usually refer to him
As Lé Jean
Because of his designer jeans, his French
And his diva 911 baby,
Amy
That is also
Why he is poised
On the open window ledge
Above the street
Considering his next move

With one hand
On the external drainpipe
And the other
On the pull cord
Of a single bare bulb light
Dangling in the pale pink
Apartment behind him

Everyone is waiting
For Lé Jean’s next move
But they really want
To hear him say
Amy Amy Amy
In that designer jean Lé Jean accent
Ahh mee? Ahh meee? Ah me.
It is not ceevil, ah me!
Bleak I mean! (Referring to her husband Blake)
Caaan you heaar me ahh mee?

What is he doing up there?
What is he thinking?
Crazy f*cker
Crazy French f*ck

Dear Lé Jean
If only we could
Dance the delicate dance
On the bleak brownstone sill
Move to the music
Of Mr. Freeze ice pops at 4AM
Roll the nicotine cocaine drip
Around your French tongue heart

With no chance of sleep
Between the clinic
And the long way down
To the bare bra
Pale pink streets
The color
Of your single bulb apartment
Crying death through the walls
Of bare 550 am feet
Where time churns
No wide-eyed difference
On her post-prison deli spree
Spread frantically
Like prison tattoo mascara
All over the back seat
Of a late tinted window January

You? Ahh me? Ahhhhmeee?
You remember?
Waving hallloowww?
On vacation?
In Barbados?
Pleeeassse?
Ahh me, let loose?
A sign?
Anything?
A wad of your phlegm
Ahh me let down
Your new platinum
De-hived hair confection
So that I may
Climb back
To the charts
You call
Back to black

Our own little
Bleak heaven
Amy?
Ah me
Ah me

Written by: ~ J.D. Szalla

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