His hair furbelowed on top of his head,
Pillowing high, his golden wafting dreads.
The maelstrom of strands is skyward bound.
The static, it sparks, a frantic sound.
Like laundry on double-decker lines,
Such swishing, flapping, slapping, behind
Such a sight to see.
RKO Ⓒ2024 All Rights Reserved.




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