Pluperfect Drank

by John Pursch

We are lost, sternly placid eater, in beer-clue cries of neon sleight or cupboard pans, soon to be filmed with taken swirls and mobbed mosquito macadams, demolished dunes of washboard time immersed in facts.

Half-only ice war; free of cases, causal casuistry, accidental homicides, horoscopes and astral pottery, defective pardons, guardian revolver jams, sultry beanbag slings, porcelain erosion, hip to limestone humps. A flying carcass, exposed carafe, indigenous anvil, consonant in sequins.

Pebbled people burp in vapid applause, chuckling gumdrop statuary, foveal glow atop an allied folly, backstage streetcar syllable, sybaritic carrier in armor.

Clank, pluperfect drank, epoxy swank to swerving lower backstop, blank! Such is the emotive wonk or honk or bonk yes conch or plainly chesty conk-out chronic song, slung deep in plutocratic golden lockout full-count atavism, swimming perilously coded to coincide with ovum, datum, organic arch of serried press potato shade, a buttoned highball, browned alacrity.