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Self-Portrait as New York in the Eighties

Brrring! I answer like a retro panther in my polyester sheath.
As long as I’ve got my hair I’ll make it. Sweetness

In the air or on the streets, my city, give us any chance
In the Pyramid only the good girls were real. Back-to-back

Like dancing might make us strong. We were poor
As a fake fur lined with fake fur, no loco, city of angles

And steel beams to bring our lungs to. Bring back the girls
We were before the story ended. I sweep like a flamingo

Into the velvety streets. Catsuit city. Sometimes my face
Is shorthand for a face. Turned out like a girl seen at an angle,

Askance. Sweet, then sour. My lips the color of Doubt.