SILICONADAS

In the favelas, siliconadas gyrate for his art

over sirens of baille-funk and gunshots.

Meanwhile, in the penthouses of Ipanema

rhinoplastic socialites wail for youth.

Their songs are the same: “I was born bald,

naked and without teeth. Everything else is profit.”

Staniforth, “Siliconadas: Ode to Ivo Pitanguy”, Harmonies (2023)

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