bangbangbarbie

I cut off all my hair,
one day before Halloween in 1938.
"I'll be Charlie Chaplin,
and you'll be Lita Grey."
He looked at me through his
crooked Russian fingers,
and his smile grew
in me like a child's
The silence
perfumed the haunted
little Brooklyn midnight,
while some musician
tortured a violin on stage.

The dazzling fragility of a woman
makes Mr. Chaplin tired.
"Lita the believer, my paradise,
I need larger pieces of you.
Why'd you go and cut your hair?"
His Moscow build is so uninviting,
and he never shivers anymore;
says he hates the way crying tastes.

He fascinates deaths; his
secrets mere celebrations
of trouble, vodka, and Leningrad.
He congratulates the cityscape
by reaching into me with
immodest bitterness.
Grins and "Lita, in that coat
you remind me of Joseph Stalin."
I cut off all my hair
one day before Halloween in 1938
but it grew back so very quickly.