Sitting bisexually, like Tallulah
Bankhead, a smoker's laugh
ready to erupt from my throat
(a hornets’ nest) it is evening
of course, an heiress sleeps
through the day, self-assured
the world moves around me
in spite of myself while I rec-
line, never fully upright, never
coalescing
I fear that in this lifetime I will
see myself become a villain
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