i have no use for a new machismo--
even packaged in paint and fishnet lace--
paradigmatically bound
and mesmerized, singing the refrain
in cheerstarved monotony.
ive seen women
and theyre not you--
no pain transcends your vision
but the prescription of self-satisfaction.
another victim of triumphalist imagery
joins the ranks of manicured wolves
marching lockstep to the
famous breeder's beat
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