(no subject)


Wild ’93, we laughed into you like Wrestlemania and the faces and the hair that

framed faces that held big glasses and the colorful shirts.
Like a WWF ring playset covered in superheroes flying, attacking, prolonged

I’ll come over after the next match and I’ll never stop.
We’re forever around. Don’t kick me out of your
I don’t want to drape myself in your father’s nightshade of sports equipment.

I don’t want to hide in your mother’s medicinal tile and plant
Just the one. But I always hated black and white tile and I always felt nauseas in

waxen spotlights. I always
They saw me leave. And they asked me about school and if I’d lost weight and if I

knew even though Hulk Hogan had won the belt again. I decline in every way.

I want to be your VCR. I want to be your drop top lo-fi. I want to be your MEM like a

man. I want to kiss you like Rowdy Roddy Piper. Or not. Or.

We’re not


not special.

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