The Perfect Cut

Passionately embracing an era of vanity, shift dresses were flung among the masses of big city livin’ humbled not by their desire for “Rags to Riches” but by their bond with kitten heels Slowly they dipped themselves in a basin of forgotten lives and memories, cleansing their vagabond soul as they emerged fruitful with silks and colors aplenty hanging from their skins, heavy and wet with the stock market’s burdens A fur is a fur is a fur is a coat of meaning, symbolizing an individual’s wealth; truly anyone’s for the taking Clothing suddenly began breathing life into the individual as women began to sport a device of motion, no longer fully repressed by man’s robotic control the machine begins to die, its hinges slowly rusting in place Suddenly a woman’s body curved less, slouched more breasts were hidden underneath pleats and frills of such The Corset was tossed in the pit, a mere memory no longer holding relevance to a woman’s eye, painted Her hair was chopped, snipped, and frayed short with a fringe gently tossed to the side The Perfect Cut for a cloche hat, short and sweet an ankle was considered immodest up until this snippet in time, trinkling itself into the picture as hemlines were cut to the calf, exposing the effect of “Total War”