Three Fictions
Parker Tettleton

Every Day Is Single

Our lungs belong in a Elliott Smith joint. It's rolled like we're twenties. There's no peanut butter until midnight. You're heels on a fold-out. We rekill this moment in whispers.

How I Remember Fucked

The Earth says keep having sex. I've developed a cigarette thumb. Cheek color is high -- we end with ton. I make no sense trying. This toilet reads Church.

I Could Get Used To You

I got off work a little. The way to pregnancy is fucked. Prepositions are in bed, coffin-handed. You're jerseyed & distance wears eyeblack. Ambivalence sings a sex mirror to sleep. Instead of isn't me.