Thursday, November 29, 2018

Topless Oops

by John Pursch


Rumpled pops out of context (ash easy snowing tabby dune swan candy particulate Sunday) and rumbles with furor:

“Gash, chest two excite beyond thawed intro, swooned pea hand tambourine bat who tureen, feral licker stack combine to drip elapsing whistle cop across a risen wayward melt to dowser slip-in, lowdown sleep, dressed in fallen crater room, swell-to-shelter pronate glom, prom-shop squeaky packing crowbar psylocin, whereabout in topless oops, more microbial pal friction, Hubba cupcake flood cap ice cream island slant of lunging sight chemise, seed a binocular medical auction with classy eyelids; gosh it’s sweaty again!”


I ache, I tumble into sinking quicksand wherewithal, swapping clones for newborn lozenges, lounging gizzards, geezers, gewgaws, autumnal antiphons of acrid architectonic anchors, animals on autonomous animosity, artful foulers, bylaws befalling bedfellows, belligerent barracudas blinking below decks, Pleistocene placemats plucked of all awls, transformed to typologies of crammed tumescent zebras on facile Rastafarian safari.

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