Parker Tettleton (3 poems)
The Things I Cut Out For You (May Has a Spider Bite)
I was once a man with lemon dreadlocks & a cinnamon tongue named Toots. You were horn-hopping Lestrange, less famous than a film wizard. That’s why you can’t hear from the kitchen: one q-tip. All it takes to fuck is something you haven’t thought of yet. I am a dark spare bedroom converted into a masturbation cell. You are a pineapple lamp that doesn’t or won’t or both come on. Shade is for lying. This poem is for strokes.
Lonely gets bigger. Sometimes it’s poison & sometimes I can make a leg out of four. What I hear over my head is front door boots. I have a tray for everyone missing. Let’s not do anything & say something else.
What is Not is Good Enough For Me
I piss out pounds & share a backless remote with beige carpet. The carpet shares more with less. The carpet would be cleaner if I cleaned it. The carpet holds more weight. The carpet is thinner. The carpet is softer. The carpet felt a girl’s ass recently. The carpet doesn’t turn on a fan for bad dreams. The carpet won’t take a mirror & walk out the door. The carpet never leaves. I leave the carpet. I am not the same.
by Parker Tettleton