JANE (1968)
She awakens in a forest and walks up to a chorus
of schoolchildren holding sheet music. From the trees
fall musical notes—sixteenth, eighth, but nothing
whole. Now she takes a stroll down Rodeo Drive.
Her hair is done up into a hive like Brigitte Bardot,
she wears a mink stole draped over her shoulders.
From the Hollywood Hills, rows of boulders bulldoze
the Drive into Lacoste, Dior, and Balenciaga shops.
Down the street, a young woman drops to her knees
after being asked to leave one of the stores. She needed
a dress. She’s a mess. Listen to the shopkeeper
squeal. She stands in the street. Jane opens her eyes
as the captain announces, welcome to these friendly skies.