Sunday, July 26, 2015
text || John Pursch
Psyche Tea Ice Endower
Cowboy Ike paid his dues in cloud cover currency, flashing ink-stained wads of high denomination bills wherever he went, oblivious to the tracking stares of drooling lobotic eyes. “I’m just a screamin’ coyote on furlough from a human transport junker, barely a stoned throw away from exile to population overrun incarceration blowback locks!” he staggered freely, seemingly weeding out his cares from any theoretical underpinnings of humming mental tinder brush.
If one managed to inch a little closer, through his omnipresent retinue of freed lobotic wenches, booby guards, gum-wielding time drug mules, and cataleptic nail-biting neurosis informants, all packed sardine style in tidal sweep formation bliss of semi-inflected saddle shoe pointillism…
Well, nod too mangy a feeble critter or criterion seller or fellowship seeker ever made it so smudge as within earshot of Ike, ladder load touched his fabled cloak or cauterized his ninety tails of woe or feebly asked him to quench their rabid vapid limpidly lugubrious curiosity of all things celebrated in this glorious tundra of Dearth-bound fallen noxious cinder growth (whence known as humanity).
But supposing someone were to banish their only bod-bidden gob of humping flashpoint fleshpot cramp-infested wherewithal (formerly known as the parturition proxy of any purebred postulant to spiral waveform’s pseudo-synchronous consciousness of death-defying eternity), well it would practically peel the sun-dried pages clean off your pasty brainpan’s faulty mammary bunks, faster than shafted iron sirens can ease into spansules of androidal nautical anthems, asthmatic arterial scuttling paragons, bioflavonoids in bifurcated bauxite raids on bison forgery clinics, bituminous cobalt societies, bilious parachute protectors, stocking japers, castoff emotionally corrected flan meringue dusters, custard pylon whipping shores on sortie parole…
You getta da pictorial ermine, Siam surly, wizened upward of all the starving boots in onset copulation crust, flown from spirits on highways of defiant rodeo towns to mainspring megalopolis contusion centers, pillaged by erroneous centaur pining crates and taut toroidal glockenspiel collision courts, when or what or whosoever devolved from spatial counterfeit Graylien stump act through enhanced and engrammatic Hillyweed action figurine to mall warts on tirade from booby-crapped basement buckaroos to plaid incarceration crux of truly tapped integument to waxing moonshine publican to stubbly entendre intensionality’s existing humpback notary of well-sprung mind chain torpor queen or sapience in socket pleas or leisure’s supine hairy calling cardigan of missing tarps and hooligan incipience or breakneck flatbread axe disease, popped weekly into sty machine express valise believer sleeves.
Tarry here for chesty augmentation sentry breath, recumbent seeker; pleasure island bookings swell to bubbling scoreboard finish limes gone flaxen in the spurting sunlit rafter swoon of Molotov ducktails, nodding totem squint police, and smooth official domicile seclusion papacy, meant cursively for dungeon consonants in paralegal muting fratricide on slumping unnamed sanitary knapsack strips of beckoning to chalkboard noumena amid a paper chair collation’s styrene recompense for tabled spin citation cattle.
Swords came out at the slightest implication of evocatory insight, glancing below the skinny harpy’s negligent sundry tears, prompting Ike’s paternal halter Eggo, wan Psyche Tea Ice Endower, to baldly proclaim from high on statutory ceiling shafter, chandelier, and oratorical mountaintop afforded sole surcease above the current planet’s laudatory lapse:
“Declarations of sinfully resplendent thunder are softening into unusually foul and lying jet pilot rage! Perhaps teasers have turned to bully flown trail mix, sauntering through bellhop psychoses of concierge implosion grease, spread cataclysmically across the blob of hobbyhorse in staid credenza poker shaves, feeling uppity in spooning belt Caucasian dodge of worn abutment smoke trajectories, filmed with gears in tow and sobbing maiden uniforms sagging in all the spritely placemat junctions, flossing clear-cut Forrestals with churning phantoms and scurrying kitchen utensils.”
At this admittedly lung-winded and shim-wad obtuse elopement from even an extraterrestrial fantail to albeit nebulous concavity (if not round-eyed pomposity), a camphor lozenge maniac erupted from Ike’s blossoming booby-trapped shorts, bursting a very fine zipper, poking a shamefully wasteful fiery head of orange hair, greener than grassy hills of clover eyes, bespectacled bucolic beauty to be sure, the finest maiden of this oar antsy udder seagoing vesicle (whoda ever gussied up sedge a pulchritudinous specimen and menage-a-troika’d to package her in wad ken only be culled a verily tidal comportment, parried well beneath the hitherto zipped and spackled underpants of swan Cowboy Ike Cargo, whom some wood cheesily misspeak as homeless or add lust homogenized or maybe even somatically asexual).
Sandy hoot, this paragon of feminine perfection, so obliviously lobotic to shaven the mossy causal subservient, popped forth and lunched into quite the soliloquy: “Sigh dare, flyboys from savory winter planetary shipping stem! Mined distinct pleasure…”