One weekend night I wandered into an intimate little place on a corner near where I live.
There, leading a trio of proverbially cool characters was a girl whom some would call a hot mess.
To me, she was a fabulously hot hot mess with the voice of a beautiful revelation
and music that picked me up and carried me away—never to be seen again.
They were freakin' great!
For almost four months they played every Saturday night and I was there every single time.
She wounded me over and over, and then healed me, over and over.
Thinking of her brings out the poet in me, I guess, but I would say that she dazzled me
while still imparting a sweet clarity that covered me like a clear cloud of cool air.
That's why I don't write poetry.
Anyway, like the song says, she killed me. Or maybe what it was is that she made me realize
how deep into death I had fallen—and then she brought me back to life.
I got to say hi to her a few times for a moment but I wasn't able to connect.
She was always on the move between sets and kept floating away from me.
Oh well, some things are meant to be and some things aren't.
I know it sounds crazy but her performances moved me in way that no one had before or since,
big time or small.
After their run there, I never saw her again.
She was like my own private megastar, my Siren, and I'll never forget her.
Now when I go to see a band play, it's just to have a good time.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
17 Saturday Nights kuco