A Date With Elvis...

some dogs who sleep At night  must dream of bones  and I remember your bones  in flesh  and best  in that dark green dress  and those high-heeled bright  black shoes,  you always cursed when you drank,  your hair coming down you  wanted to explode out of  what was holding you:  rotten memories of a  rotten  past, and  you finally got  out  by dying,  leaving me with the  rotten  present;  you've been dead  28 years  yet I remember you  better than any of  the rest;  you were the only one  who understood  the futility of the  arrangement of  life;  all the others were only  displeased with  trivial segments,  carped  nonsensically about  nonsense;  Jane, you were  killed by  knowing too much.  here's a drink  to your bones  that  this dog  still  dreams about.