Hair trailing down my shoulders, my arms, my belly, while someone pulls at my head, clipping away more and more, a cold spray of water on my neck, covered with shivers.
In the bedroom, in my underwear, facing the wardrobe's mirror while my boyfriend gives me a haircut. Easter Sunday.
This is what needs fixing.
YOU ARE READING
At the Gym with Allen GinsbergRandom
"I really would like to stop working forever-never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I'm doing now-and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I'd like to keep l...