Pulp Fiction

Drenched in grey and metallic blue frames,

wise guys in beige trench coats and matte black hats

(and sometimes white gloves)

have unfinished business. 

There’s a permeating code that runs deep,

book of bushido, code of omerta, 

controlled by hierarchies of made men, 

it is what it is,

faire bande a part.

Faith, doubt, humanity

and the tyranny of evil men

lured into inherent vice

elliptically cut with 

flourishes of laconic restraint

and frenetic brawls

and bloodthirsty paranoia,

that’s entertainment!