My new poem about my hatred that is white-hot and unrelenting for babies in bars.
smoking cigars.
picking at umbilical scars.
strumming little guitars.
going for jugulars.
trying to pay with dinars.
stalking their favorite reality stars.
talking about their trips to Myanmar.
shamefacedly reading Harper's Bazzar.
waiting for the valet to come around with the car.
wishing her biological clock would tick faster,
akw
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