Erase Your Wattles

I’d forgotten the triangle jerk stylings that out you every so often. Disappear. Make them disappear. I want lightness. I want documentation. I don’t want the sun-tan. The color yellow. Thick farfisa strained and orange-like. Keep your sweaty bond paper-stripper brew away from me. 

Your candlelight reflexing bores me to the core. The love fades, awash in nonsense compliments.

Continue to obliterate modicum and nuance — this is how it is to be alive now. There are webs of worlds moving beyond our perception — how little we know. 

And how brusquely you move in your mantelshelf hair. Profoundly obvious. Uniquely abominable. 

We would like to erase your wattles. We would like to dream you away.

What I’m Reading:

IT IS THE FLAWED, ODDBALL, THE BROKEN, that is magnificent. The perfect doesn’t interest me. It has no personality.

— Elizabeth McCracken / A Long Game: Notes on Writing