This Is An Area Code

Tread

I tap my left ankle bone with a green Chuck when Matt Berninger baritones How close am I to losing you? Morning isn’t breakfast it’s over easy. We’re sinks under sleeping. How isn’t a relationship a menu? Hardwood floors wet for piranhas; eyes are rhetorical hearts. None of that means I know you; none of this does, too.

 

This Is An Area Code

Slugs aren’t slow they’re goddamn cautious with excellent bone structure.  I locker biology, pass bubblegum to physics. You’re somewhere that does this still. We don’t give a shit about the morning. I’m picking me up nothing. You’ll remember this some other time.

 

Hives Drip Honey Not Honest

So you feel this I begin there’s nothing like imagination; who says such silly shit? Putting the I in me’s a blowjob. One way is another more than less fucked, new as breathe, fluff as a cinder block epiphany. Do not mean you mean I’m inside usually.

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Parker Tettleton’s work is featured in &/or forthcoming from Gargoyle, trnsfr, Spittoon, ILK, & The Conium Review, among others. His second collection, GREENS, is since-Memorial-Day available from Thunderclap! Press. More or less is here.