My Cardboard Balcony

Sweater Vest by Belinda Roddie I'll wear a sweater vest every day, make it gay, carry a big black binder full of beautiful women. Keep the gray in my hair. Pick a crater to land my moon colony. I'll make everything they say pink and happy and fabulous, so when they go to sleep at night, all they can think of is that I've spiked their morning coffee, drizzled their morning newspapers, plagued their morning routines with the love they can't stand.

Civilized man is an oxymoron. He thinks it's okay to beat in wife in private and peck her on the cheek in public. He devours raw flesh in the afternoons while drinking tea in pleasant company. The top hat is there to hide his headache. The bulbous pants are there to hide his boner. There is no point to acting civilized. We're not civilized. We're barbarians on leashes. We've always been the ferals being tamed.