why do you write about cold
hearted women
with guns in their
hands. knives in their
brassieres.
stiletto heels and cherry
red lips.
don't you know any good
women. women who
bake you muffins, make
the bed, and scratch
your back while singing
you lullabyes to sleep?
yes, you tell her,
but those women seem
more interesting, than
you, as calm and normal
as you can be in your
leopard skin pill box hat.
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