wtf pwm

Hi, Etc.

Parker Tettleton

Where the sun drips the hue of egg yolks through a barrel of wind emptying at our prickled feet before some mothers notice we're missing we stand. "HI," I say but thinking. "HI, HI, HI," you're listening. It gargles out "I ONCE ATE A LIVE CHICKEN SUCKING A BED OF DEAD FLOWERS IN JULY" when I meant to say "I LIKE THE ANGLES BETWEEN US" instead of "I HATE THE COLOR BLUE" to ascribe love to the moan of shredded overalls foddering the seed of nothingness. We as children seeping. We children. Seeping.

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