Andrea Werblin

Arguing in Public

Any plastic flower's lame reach to heaven is any Dos Equis' knowledge
of terror, so you go a few rounds of proving emphatically nothing,
grow up prickly and worn before you've gotten a chance to rotten each
other the long way. Couples of this taqueria, I could use you being
happier if you wouldn't mind it,  because the heater emits only
flowers of heat, and the birds caught in the air ducts are shrieking
like his best afternoon of locking me out and calling the police, & 
the police laughing. May you never again call each other jerkass in a
car on a Saturday morning, while your love and hate deprivatize. May
your foolhearted means of courting what is over be over now. 
Structureless as you are, try thanking your respective bellies for
being potlike,  the winter's weird fingers for a fury more gracile
than all your years alone.