Perm & Two Bosom Friends
Ogpu, the secret police of my mind
And not that of Russia
Has squinted at the girl with curly hair perm
She came in palanquin
In the white milky night
Two bosom friends
Lying dead as wood in mortuary
Their enduring story became momentary
Her glow has fallen on everyone
As smooth as silk
As if all present there, were part of a pictograph
Taking bath in the sterilized pasteurised milk
Quill of flight feather of a large bird
Wrote the unbelievable story of dents
Her beautiful perm ruptured good relations
Between those two bosom friends.
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