A Souvenir Shop of Body Parts

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Ypsi is the capital of coiffure, home of hair, nabob of nails and tanning bed heaven. A dead industrial town, it has given itself over to the arts of the mortician, prettying up the pallor of people who live under perpetually gray skies. In Ypsilanti, women wear such elaborate do's that they must sleep like bats, hanging from rafters. More piled curls than a Louis Quatorze baroque opera house, enough fake nails to build the dreadnought ship of Norse apocalypse and bring on Ragnorak. Yes, Ypsi is a huge mojo cachet of skin, hair and nails. A souvenir shop of body parts—wigs and skin flicks, whores, tattoos and untouchables. A big gris gris mess balancing precarilously somewhere between bordello and abbatoire.

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John T. Unger poet

I'm best known as an artist and designer. Relaxing makes me tense, so I tend to put in a lot of hours on diverse projects.

Before becoming a visual artist, I spent 15 years as a poet. I studied poetry at Interlochen Arts Academy, Naropa, Stone Circle and on the streets. I performed my work for years at Stone Circle, solo shows, poetry readings, and at Lollapalooza in 1996.

I still write poems, but only if I can make them fit the constraints ofTwitter.

Mobile: 231.584.2710 (9 to 5 PST only) | Email me

Art IS my day job

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