Saturday, March 3, 2012

text || John Pursch


Backlit armchairs freeze a holy ramp in spacetime, mentioning triple plays to a senior judgment specialist. Their warm intent goes unrewarded, however, due to falsified gerbils. Quantified melons pierce a hallowed mirror, specifying a flopping plastic mule, regardless of loathsome bibliographies. Locked mansion docks plead for tender referees, soaping up a dowry, augmenting mealy torsion nets for a wavering engine. Ears to the troubadour’s spoiled surprise, a sweating cadaver plays bongo parts for a baseboard juke box quintet, ambling over hot colanders, mixing lice and orange roughy. My Lysol deterrent growls daily at flugelhorn gamblers, humming thrown parachutes in a wand tunnel screen. Oars of a winged doodler spin purring collation towns into endearing fleets of soiled electric warts, bailing out of torn melodies. Sharpened greasers smile at toaster children, mastering pine shirkers, embossing bear stunners with greenery. Oaken gels spurn the dryer’s icing effect, hamming it up for diabolical sheep stems, who ponder easy existence on ultraviolet cue balls. Travel to wrestling motifs enables tourniquets to stain exemptions, hobbling a dragon’s only vellum moose, scratching all night. Plenty of merely pleasant calamity kits needle the parking lot’s feral cinders, edging out residual torpor for a lamp in repaired ponds. Coloring boats rinse angular lobs of any haunted wealth, grappling with grey chutes for a flight to the normal fence. Loose hangars emit caretaker prints, clawing through alien clover with two-handed peat. They want to trample the pit bull, but balk at common filth. How else to expiate their woozy liens? When mirth entails all gregarious spelunking in a man cave made for treason, who will tamper with belly dancers on hurtling trams? As lungers dock the mean arrangers of flexed carriages, players can count feather paints for easy internment, debiting aphasia. Girls rescind whatever android leather pop-ups the flawed equestrian poultice managed to detract, clearing our jetty of heavy machinery. Loafers imply a streaming steed’s milled dalliance, responding in a fatal scourge of keen Velcro. Wishing for a whole plaster, dreg mechanics splurge, foppish and impaired. Red evenings debase a tulip cabin’s ventral mink, easing nine horrible chefs into prickly caboose shoes. Pent up for wagoners, thousands of gravel experts fry dented monopoles over braised eyelets, goosing a high scrambler. Carloads of early species enter fast food claims, quacking along with portal crawls. Sated by pygmy ailerons, abridged cilia scoot over splintering piles, merging urchins and extra relish. Catching as canneries flee, aquarium junkies spell tesseract netting with forty-one vowels, overturning a wilting incision’s rude stanchion. Palliative clarity ensues, warbling into a round table quarter, saving a sapper from timorous welts. Doors implode at the hint of grenadine intent, defending foreign pillory decanting, despite a healthy dose of greeting card clues. Can antebellum op art wells send newly conquered jammers to cholera havens? Will spore collectors root out presidential opera mugs before erroneous waifs inflate a yoyo? Thesis packers buy blank faces at marked bubble easements, chipping metric marbles through wickered feints, arguing for livery moons. Floored celery cheats on mothering banks, halting a cheesebag fade, enduring moribund hygiene. Lowing felons grace the plains with prescient wind, blocking dented croupiers, tiling wheezers with canned vermouth. Throwing pealing artists an ossified eruption kit, teamsters evacuate the messy trance, flooding a conscious dealer’s second-hand Pinto with rice scissors. Usual ardor flows, skipping kinfolk cramps, exiting a pocketed knave’s penitent grappling chowder bulb. Purple finally obtains, grafting collars to weird police feet, stubbing out workhorse beans. Games leap into pralines, chugging worsted séance chews, bringing excretions over, sliming a heavy gofer with ancient mead. Kickoff detergent smells suspiciously of linseed oil, basking in the boxer’s glorious plight, delaying departure of all Earth-bound blowguns. A simple fracture, to be sure, but sunset obscured the cruising Egyptologist’s sign of interred distress, plaguing extra cable cars for hills, dales, and bellwether pronoun juice. Even so, stitches were fondly inferred, leavening the vital pox with drainage rants and pillaged franks, mastering a dental coot’s idle barn.

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