
| The Honey Land Review Spring 2009 Volume 1, Issue 2 |
in the feminist fable emboldened us as we tossed off shoes and bras wore mini skirts up at our patootie and moo-moos to our toes, donned headbands and grew hair to our hips. Maxi measured several inches longer than the midi. Midi-coats and maxi skirts and wraparound happi-jackets along with fits-all pantyhose liberated locked knees and need to fold our hands, sit, ladies, up straight. By painting on flowers, peace symbols and smiley faces we could transform naked into activist or choose to manifest the Moroccan look of opulence, rings on every finger and advocate an Arabian influence of yellow-crepe with the wearer displaying her concept of personality quintessentially American, smelling of patchouli and more patchouli swaying in smoky loops of cannabis flouncing, while the mercantile mercenary beauty industry was wearing a painted thug’s face slinging slogans worn threadbare by overuse. |
Looking Through the Transparent Blouse for the Perfectly Bosomed Carol Levin |
| Photo By Robert McGrain |
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