‘Opt in’ or …

‘Opt  out.’

Seems to be a question

of sorts.

Although it’s not

laden like others.

It doesn’t smell like other

questions.

It’s just a kind of lazy conundrum.

Boredom swallows

gallant words

and you’re back

in a stasis of:

“Are we this, are we that?”

What do we want  …

and when on earth do we want it.

Vacuity is emulsified only

to gloss over the details …

catch the paint-related joke there.

Catch my hand out to you,

and then recourse to your stagnant glare.

Guide me, oh though great

glaucoma.

The choice of

choices,

and the unused, malignant flare.