Bad trim, worse blow dry.
Pitying looks from strangers.
Do I cut and run?
Hair stylist issues
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Bad trim, worse blow dry.
Pitying looks from strangers.
Do I cut and run?
Bad trim, worse blow dry.
Pitying looks from strangers.
Do I cut and run?
I type in a dim
dark room listening to surf.
There’s an app for that.
Unlike cold New York
you smile, take in all comers
with your midwest charm.
Though Burnham’s Folly’s
in New York, he saved his best
for his hometown dreams.
What naiad dances
in your pulsing, surging heart,
calling me to her?
City of Shoulders
Your fountains bring tears, your sky
scrapers pierce my heart.
She contemplates bangs,
a different color, hair
as reinvention.
Intense chemistry
onstage. In real life, silent,
eyes not quite meeting.
“I just want to feel
pretty,” she says through her tears.
She already is.
Trying to make work
indulgent, a nine-to-five
wage slave’s fantasy.