Experimental | August 15, 2014

Five Prose Poems by Parker Tettleton

Parker Tettleton is the author of the prose poetry collection GREENS (Thunderclap Press 2012) & three chapbooks: SAME OPPOSITE (Thunderclap Press 2010), OURS MINE YOURS (Pity Milk Press 2014) & MAN SUGAR (co-authored by Riley Michael Parker, Housefire Books 2014). More or less is here.

Experimental | February 16, 2014

Five Pieces by Parker Tettleton

Mid-Term

I took a January test today – she’s twenty-four in seven months. For another country, on Friday, it’s the year of the horse. I wait for the train home with a blank screen used to predict arrivals on my left. It was zero in Chicago when I woke & where we are thirty-nine. It isn’t thirty-nine now. I’m halfway to twenty-seven this Valentine’s Day. The train lets me off at the convention center then I walk north. It’s 2014. I couldn’t be more or less West Germanic.

Valium From Mandy

I can be reached from the fist underneath my

Experimental | March 15, 2013

I Lie In A Way That Knows Me by Parker Tettleton

I Lie In A Way That Knows Me

The first sentence is a labyrinth. What’s here—or was—is a kitchen sex mirror, knifed breathing. She’s reading a train on time; reading a time on a train. There are eyebrows in quotations regarding the softest instances of your mouth.

Before Minutes

I ask for an ask. The second sentence begets. This is wandering & we’ll pre-order fuck you. Flashes swim as they may.

We See Films

This sentence is a state on the rise. Six minutes before eleven begins We’re ones in slept math. I begin, you rise. Vegetables are less fucked

Poetry | December 15, 2011

Four Poems by Parker Tettleton

There Are No Numbers

I’m today, part of what’s passing. I ask booths who they are anti-meridian. I’ve met people who do not facilitate pillows. I am not out of first person sentences. Now as far as I know: don’t.

I Am Close To Myself More

Everything is sentimental marries a trash can, puts beers emptied in, sits on a sofa someone else paid several someone elses for, spellchecks hearts, looks up looking at anything touching something reminding, remembered, as now as gone.

Fast Floor

I tremor The microwave’s awful, perpetuate refrigerators I can’t dial for numbers. Elevator sex twines