Two Fictions
Parker Tettleton

Peanut Butter

We postcard after, lighthouse an ellipsis. What's a serious talk? The morning's before, eagles are fucked. Everyone hears something about dogs. A fifth gets jacked by the I.R.S. We're spread with a murmur.


The saddest fact of the world is batteries. You're tea for I'm no second sentence. We're growing where nothing's god. Excerpt: in lieu of a mirror, let's fuck ourselves pretty. Then we sell the rights to the right of what's left.