Penny dreadfuls they used to call them.
Dreadful but cheap
like a $3 bottle of wine.
Fine entertainment, though.
Two hundred pages
of passion,
fashion of the forties,
feathered hats,
and hat pins,
sins and shiny pistols,
Veronica Lake hair,
Alan Ladd intensity,
immensity of neon, everything was black and white then.
Kill me; no, kiss me.
Which will it be?
Got a light?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem