I flick ashes on my usual hand pissing in the dark. You’re in a state at least one over. Sometimes there is soup but mostly medicine I can’t reach. Everything doesn’t mean what it does without. I never wear your favorite t-shirt.
My favorite dead person is still alive. I’m coming up three flights face down on my pillow. Here’s one: make something to not make anything else. Another? I hear soap in my ears.
When we have sex it’s not always us. I want the stick in my mouth to not be a bus on my chest. Do you love for long? I’m sitting next to everything on a pile of books.
I’m not scared of you but I want to be. There’s an art crawl & after that there’s possibility. We’re not living before. I woke up sweating beer the last time I did that. There are two screens at least in front of me. I can’t say what’s in front of you. I’m starting to not believe I don’t believe.
Sun sound out loud song sex dripping green rhythmed, no noise none hung microwaves masquerading teeth open holed hummings of timers lined cage-walking asterisks hoping how who is wood is next is awful is awhile Yes! Swim like a cigaretted concubine. I will horn my head & others — oh often, nines come pinking awhile, lo putting, home in ached anti-.
Parker Tettleton’s work is featured in &/or forthcoming from Gargoyle, The Catalonian Review, > kill author, elimae, & Mud Luscious, among others. His chapbook SAME OPPOSITE is available from Thunderclap! Press. Find more work & informationhere.