John Pursch: The Baroness of Brickbat Bollocks

Archibald Tincture,
Turdly-Turd Precedent of ArchandTina,
tuna capital of the whirled, flexed his
artificially brawny biceps and chortled:

“Wharfore ye be stragglin’,
O mightily mangled and maniacally mangy
flesh o’ fishes on the proprioceptive proverbial
rod n’ reelin’ counterpoint pith of nylon phylum
stockyard inklings of goodly impending cacciatore
breastplate extravaganzas,
spoiled surreptitiously betwixt thine western
hemispherical mandate of manly festooned
dusty kneelers and plutocratic tinkling
carthorse capsizers of dyed heuristic
corrugated dumplings?”

His whiffle bull noodnik hound pardner
in grimy guffaw-given grifter calumny,
the Crown Tessa de Vitalia cum Gloriosa
Plumb Numb Knockery Sand Twitchium
Flavius Blond Super Eggnibus Quid Prong
Fallacium Quiribonquenule E Pleurisy Magnum,
snorted justly and spoke between
successive codpiece snuff blots:

“Eye spay, bleariest Starchy,
thine semi-prevaricating quotient
of stygian handy semantic pestilence proceeds
from your dubiously effaced habilitation drift
in swarms of surviving car parts,
oily and speckled with mechanical grit
of a sooty metallic tinge,
sashaying from booty gall to totally fruity
lung compartment floss in shot pursuit
of Shetland paunchy shorthair cake and
broad stirrup crumpet stew on furlough
from terrier retrieval camp,”
tamping down another bowl of flightiest
corn-cobbian chimerical deodorant smog,
sloughed off by the tiniest of pearly inhalers.

“Quite a Cored Waiting Sea beatitude
you’ve quibbled forth and quietly quoted,
or dare eye slay, misappropriated,”
Archie’s piebald prefecture of palimpsest
and interminably insensate sectarian
somnambulance soliloquized in crap
tour house defenestration’s alluvial
bloodhound best of bestial blockage.

Her Majesty’s inestimable captivity
of hindered skimpy delectable frumpery
limped and blanched at this somewhat
tempered consequential bow shot.

Nothing for it bet to bust an altered
snuffbox slat straight up ciliated rostrum septum,
deviating periodically in frontal tune’s imperious
slim phonic towel moorings of hambone hip-check
hospitality suede.

Nasal twang in drain eruption thus excited,
she rejoined in almost cunning cannery contumely’s
costumed grace of grazing brazier bon vivant:

“Dearly bedeviled Precedent
of this fondly gored and shackled
Nubian nation of notational lotioned yearlings,
your savory disheveled world laid bare
so grandiloquently by yore and sea and
bland discomfiture’s deciphered malaise
of underbelly crouton faith and intestinal
statuary belches, strewn with filched hyena
droppings of a cranky feasibility study into
the warehouse attributes of your lately cratered niece,
the Baroness Bivonia the Blockhead of Brickbat Bollocks
(the nth Brigadier of Beauregard Broth);

how cometh you to slouched sandy screeds
of reliquary remonstrations and peculated
perspicacity in pompous pisspot tusky
swordsman currying plover unbeknownst
to simian ham sisters of hull-busting
king-of-the-cesspool stipulation headwaters?
Hansel me tryst, ewe fuelish Brahmanic stoker
of knifed heretical parodies!”

Sin deed, hit war quiet a jolly
happenstance of gustatory testament,
twitly sax per teased heirloom
nutsack crematoria whiff,
and coverall syllabic froth.

Shaven this impious oddity oven haughty
other canoe wanders howl Starchy the Piebald
clan soporifically menage a troika due reply.

Swell tan, high mired ash wheedle sled ewe know,
he took a steep breath and crumbled ride
in weed dish tyrannical pomade:

“Foist of awl, mine steer Crown Tessa,
isle dispense wit yer noose whence removed,
yes my niece two pea exultantly expectorant,”
hand hear he pawed the groin, leading fly with
nod an insignificant gob of spittle.

“Yes, that’s broth for the Baroness of Brickbat Bollocks;
be grateful it weren’t derived from beeswax behind
the bedridden trap-door blunderbuss of backside
cannonade catastrophe bilge!

“Now to spansule your ignoble and ill-timed query
as directly and synergistically as only ewe deserve:
eye come to sloppily scrunched scrotal scurryings
through phonetical decades of subtly scuttled decay,
burrowed smiles beneath the Samsonite Jungle,
swaying bank-to-blank-to-blinkered bunk bed bingo
on the good ship Lazy Popeye’s perennially
submerged poop deck, snorkeling in olive oil,
taking canned tuna for mercurial lunchbox
gruel strayed drown the plastic spigot’s
unregulated mosquito setting in set-piece
scuttlebutt rumpled two-tone unicycle stilt
machinery of baffled skimpy kin.

“Too terpsichorean for ya?
Moan adder, try these when haul hulls flails:
far above tea heady waiters hover chesty bought
antsy smattering of deified deistic tribulation
in brittle tarrying sunset trivia man-o-whore
will sever from mounted heinous crotch repeal
to kneeling mealtime Clorox infestation nibs
of Inkan festivals or Youran time-reversal blues
or Chunky de Mylar holiday binge
or national dungeon bath
or Plexiglas hamster flotilla rapacity
or sagacious lilac gristle
in flayed snore Speedo necks.”


John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in many literary journals. A collection of his poetry, Intunesia, is available in paperback at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks. His pi-related experimental lit-rap video is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

John Pursch: Miss Rhoda Dendrite

“I feel a tarantula of sartorial toroidal backplane
Beauregardial conclave contamination girth-wide
propeller notions crawlin’ up muh backside
et this very momentous hocked-up caisson,”
mumbled Roto Stellar Plebeian Monocle Head,
the Second Pearl of Dirty Sandwich Skylight
Seashore Pasture-Blaster Quotient Filth,
alias Forthright Frankfurter the Unknown Goblet-Spewin’
Canned Testicle Tumbler From Bicuspid Salad Slouch Control.

“Whale, my simian approximation ova
hand-crampin’ crampon stew stoolie pageant
runner-up from East Side lechery’s societal embargo,”
began his sun-kissed sidekick,
Miss Rhoda Dendrite Hand-Tendon Calling Saucepan
Deliciosa en Triplicate per Furry Hound Ferocity
(told separately to flashy underarm decortication
mist enforcers from healthy huffing sway
hosiery haunts clear acrostic the floozy’s
frozen Hindlegian Hannibal Quartet
of Quicksand Island Onset Sheen).

Bet before she could even squirm out
an altered whirl of ordinary concocted syllables,
why thet thar Second Pearl of Hamwich
he chest bolloxed his fat yap clean open
and opined at tweed the spice of soundly
graven adversarial traduction:

“Queued a lewd lead-in
if I does spay so meshelf,
heaven fur such a wobbly
wand wieldin’ beautician has yerself
from lonely isthmus carrion kits
in deepest pie land tractor ruts,
whad bean owned and solid sold
so mangy times to turd party semblances
of actuarial merchant magazine salesmen
on chunky vomit junkets from Nude Hexagain
stakeout border parole confabulation trysts.”

Rhoda tugged her happy popcorn tourney t-shirt,
courtesy of curtseyed biplane miscreants
in leering Cheerio outfits
(wad with skirts clear up to their
so-balled navel engagements
in entrecotes fer fuzzy vestibular henchmen
wrench socket routines gone crampy
this dime-droppin’ time o’ the slippery old
toothless mouth of Trenchfoot March);

well, she dud indeed shabbily grab
the hopalong copper tune’s itsy bitsy flashpoint’s
iterative gerrymandered periscope ground
to say her hairpiece afore randy ole Rotating Frankfurter
could fart up another blast o’ heated peanut heresy,
but wad weed this adhering gushy preamble
tokin’ up so much oven smoke,
well I just overwrote her familial diatribe
strayed into its own redaction mythos byproduct!

Wade, wade, canoe ya nose that jest wooden be fair,
Ferris, or even felicitous, of antsy heft sway
descending author (latter loan spittle bowl me)
so here comes Rhoda ‘round the human cartwheel
of fortunate imbibement circumstellar
Punic brothel wax retardant
smothering bottle hamster tongue…

and hair’s wad she had to slay:

“Firstly, lemme tank hallow the tropes who fought
so bravely at the Battle of Scuttlebutt Bridge last night;
heavenly swan o’ ewe deserves a metallic udder
of condemnation and savory mystical
counterparts to clover fer your assets
in the hairy after partisan heifer warfare
(known farcically and wide-eyed as the
Glorious Cavalcade of Ascending Doughboy Holes).”

Here she paused to truncate
each and heavy ivory-collared short arm,
wad amounted to over a thousand headless corsets
and bloomin’ corsages of anything but bloodless
strumpet soup tureens, wet with spurtin’ sallow pustules
flowin’ ground the cock crow’s towering sin fer nose guards,
cantaloupes, and miraculously whipped
shaving crematoria vacuums.

Ceremony thus completed,
she canned her retinue and curried comely on:
“Snow whar wuz I? Whoa yeah: puddin’ that
Goblet-Spewin’ Testicular Tumbleweed
name o’ Roto Frankfurter the Second
Pearl of Sandy Hamwich
in his proverbial placemat burial clown!
Howitzer coulda hand one sever forget-me-snot
wince they gut such a juicy target inner sleight o’
ninety-nine tracer bullet bonanza blunt?”

At this admittedly long-drawn
and quarterly bastardized sled ride
of a sledgehammered lead-in,
Frankfurter couldn’t help but blanche,
quail, crap his boots, ooze the rankest
postprandial demitasse of heavyweight insipidity
known to mangy breasts from hair
to Chatty Mandarin Duplicity’s Two-Bitten
and Distraught Conquered District
(Flea to Bituminous Cuckoldry).

Bet croppin’ his hairline
black to the stunned saga
wooden-a-shaved him from
the compounding garter-foundling
(nod to menschen fondling)
tat war crumblin’ his whey.

And so good Rhoda,
Miss Dendritic Overshoe herself,
in truly dewy dime-droppin’
drag-crazin’ beer-quakin’ frenzy,
filially delivered whad can homely be culled the cure de crass,
mire than sham biologically loppin’ luft the swollen head,
green-sleevin’ that pure solid Frankfurter
oozin’ moustache mustard, mumbly-Peggity moutardant
sand feathered featurettes of sighing gland solipsism
from pier to shinnying wharf rat riot gear
in cheesy cold townhome Cleaverland,
bakin’ the eyeballs clean outa Cistern Butter Frack-along’s
snowy grifter populace entrainment camps,
‘cross burbled wire in wizened tertiary sailor nuts,
flossed to geese retainer continental scum tracts
and foul-weird thrivers on repast immortality
deduction fruit encampment drool.


John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in many literary journals. A collection of his poetry, Intunesia, is available in paperback at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks. His pi-related experimental lit-rap video is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

John Pursch: She’s Cargo

Lobots copulate twelve at a throw
in shabby She’s Cargo street locales
from slobbered Yeast Side shanty town
to Nord Spore hooker blight contestant-go-fluky
picture of exhibitionist know-how numbnut
parameter pyramid of jelly control plop
to tarts on Ferris wheels shy below spurned
cat-o’-entrails movie deluxe Borax queen
in refutation angst of popped hammerhead circle.

Limbs fly off in window dressing spatter confutation proxy,
daring us to crowbar ribs from rivulets of dead probate
scheme contusion blend, slipping forlorn into time-trap dusk
of seashore aphrodisiac extortion grind to lollipop curls
on redheads lost at seizure’s pendular swoop
of crosstown planetary schism.

“Whoopee!” Clem he shout at nose-blown geyser strike
of blow-by-lobot itch release to salami entrance handyman
galore parade of daring epistemic guard dog troll platoon
in defalcation’s grisly functionary sleaze entombment.

Dozen parolees inundate the frontal odor fire escapee
via hidden halftrack backdoor neckline perpetration hatch,
flooding ontic whereabouts with muddy bootjack cataclysm
hemorrhage of bile-line inguinal incursion limps
in strongly piled circadian torsos, keyed to lowered
basket flecks of cauterized graveyard she-food fare,
canned separately for disheveled ship-to-scorecard
embolism retreat beyond animal crimes.

“Went straight because the causal chops impaired me,
fuel-hide raucous onto roto-tundra umbral ventral sensate
infiltration gauze of cheesy clothesline sex capade
in fecal cavitation socket cordite plume
to aging pterodactyl flight machine, dumbly pounding
balled smack time-groupie phlegm whey behind her
knee-hollow damping site on periscope sighs of landed
signatory waistcoat pillory seduction,”
spews Punky Ankle Anna,
Queen of Registration Globules
Nun Withheld Phlegm Mynah
Blockhouse Pardon Crumbling Swath.

(Lunge tidal surely flour wan off dementia’s flying
as studious asp finery canned sloughed madams,
blown over airy evergreens in softened thuds
of counterpart seclusion hayseed overcome
to needless quay-sag bovine territory spells,
waxing promo flush to boggy lurch
of dried lobotic eyeball crust on
incandescent sunrise baker’s boson.)

“Thet Juan dare be goin’ peduncular!”
gestures Chary Attic Maelstrom Chunky-Chunk-Alike,
Hairy Force Majeure of Slobbered Beast Slide Quotient’s
flexible pummeling yard, blockaded jest sloth
of She’s Cargo’s wurst bane of sallow neighborhood
gazette gazebo quadrant cesspool undertow,
wherein none buddy varied mostly despicable
hand froggily desk-hutch inching pestilential rotifers
and emotive villainy care to proffer their somewhat bruised
bottom-fleecers in courts-o’-pallid barrier quaff-line barkeep
fleabag keg-cracking retrograde to discotechnique blunt enthrall
of slathered cornball mockeries of bobby schlock extraordinary
shy school churlish coffers filling burned saliva into vanities
of fairly haltered tail shod sapientially by leering shoeshine malice
hailstorm queens on streetcar sidebar bridle grease commotion
elocution carts, wheeled sensibly into the dawn.

John Pursch: Buncle Slim

“I what plump fergot to warsh off the ink
from muh stumpie hafta-go-lurchy peninsular spoutin’ pin,”
chuckled H. Prerogatory Q. Nappie O’Wrangler the Pith,
fifteenth Earl of Shampooed Hamwitch,
Deaconate of the Touchy Toupee of Norse Umbrian Flaregun.

He smoked long and lean bicuspid fillings
of juiced encaustic tonic notary pulp city
flagon destruction compartment moths,
what flipped their mythologically impacted wings
from mating rituals known clear across Louvered Swobodia
for their grout-wrenching performance narratives
of bulimic sod and tarts in disrepair,
flung from torn fishnet undergarments
outa store-bought frontier delusions,
pasted to your brainpan by emerald daydreams
of popcorn movie head and stick-figurine incendiary
plow horse blowtorch defibrillation,
courting debilitated deputies
of Pyre Sighland lug-alike canned detestation,
clear from Sloshing Foam, P.C.
to Scuppered Downhome Outhouse Pisregard
(piling place of D.T. Ponereport,
dirtiest sniveling whore genital contrail remover
ever found in the heinous annals of twirled hysterical sunsets,
steered navel-wide from pluperfectionist magisterium
to bailiff broadsides fired county cluck-wise
in bullfrog buttress imitation’s filial possum
of ostrich custard election know-how).

Show me how far we’ve come
from umpteen umbrella shots in Pealing Drama, Taxes,
you syrupy sudsy slurper of deep-fired
slattern-crookin’ creek-bred rusty Aphasians,
plied what with plopped cycle breasts milked by
inert shoddy lop-of-the-two-piece
boardroom snooker jock set,
imploding hourly on chunnels ground
to clockwork Styrofoam pajama spurts,
confronted belles o’ battling bleeding litigants
he daubed with heisted creepy cradlers
from hovering hilltop feudal larders,
fueled to foveal floating rotation bilge,
sloshing over the wobbling epiglottal eyesore
of precedents becalmed to rows of stimulated sheet petal Sundays.

Datelines glide to comely home front stowaway illusion meals,
accepting ptomaine heat erasure by the handyman’s
expressly mobbed contusion grease fanatic semblance,
propped in worrisome decibel emotion proxy snooze belief
for gulch-cowing cooler chatter,
recollected sideways by Buncle Slim,
Carbuncular Capsizer of Defenestrated Tailors
Swirled Canticle-wide and Chopped Sousa Doozy
Infant’s Peduncular Nerdly Emblem Grazer.

Slim what shot up add mirely demotion’s causal mannequin
of his churlish dame’s devotional membrane and claimed
in terrified desultory infusion breath:

“Who’d savory grafted android rights
of wayward billowing Beluga breast
inspection torts to anyone,
ladder lonely slum underfed corpse
of inclined planet placard plaque
derision numbnut criminologist
wud you mired obey pee-cullin’ year shelf
in mah courtyard gloomy vestibule,
figurin’ tea cup a pleasant spleef afore ya mentioned
the hummed hymnal intentionals
of smugly played imbibement daze
gone festerin’ likely into puissant comedy of terriers?”

Wheedle know,
this candle figure eight o’ nine trailing tongueless crab tree,
ferried along the groin grain gloss of homespun chattel pie
by anyone but Buncle Slim,
whale eet waddled nut fairly furor than say a gantry mire
before laughing in sway bar munificence
to country island lug nut slake,
contested sliding follicle delusion
set to porous gravy overshirt of dung
in fair heathered henna implants.

Showering humps every switched day
from cylindrical nightstand sloop
to jib to jabbering spinnaker buboes,
the crowded Doctor Mastiff staggered outa timed machinery’s
pubescent portal chest into naked timesheet numbing gents,
kneed ‘em to submissive postulates
of Oilskids Reproductive Surgery Repair Service
(manned by one furious rattler biding nautical
his shipping gyration’s motivated clime),
and cobbled two gasping thunderheaded blonde rodeo queens
to form the next great preener of shore
and screaming sliver of screen shot chunky flesh
to salivate a dousing seizure’s pinochle entendre,
planting the Americon phlag, all plastic and purple,
from middle C to lower intestinal bucolic rage,
right in the rectilinear rectal mulch of down-and-shouted
towny frowsy whorehouse continuity’s newly elected
Precedent Hearball O’Bunky,
worldly peasant extraordinaire,
founder of most android nude colonial pederasty societies
on cheesebag planetary discursive entrails
strewn atop the Asstoroidal Bleat,
flaunting Dearth’s mythical prowess,
full candy canard petroleum petard infarction dog,
just tarrying to stultify Chupacabra Peter’s frozen waistline
into mordant extraluminal humping oblation.

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in many literary journals. A collection of his poetry, Intunesia, is available in paperback at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks. His recently released experimental lit-rap video is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

John Pursch: Amelia, Queeg of Sots

Amelia aired her heart across the ivory dusk
to seize in wondrous plangent overflight
of tundra youth and glockenspiel hilarity
for twisted tantrums, bellicose
in all verbosity’s splendid kingdom:
“I’ll warn you, Harold, but this once:
we’ll start the dreaded seizures,
whence again your hairy doctored species
won’t have half a chalice of grassroots
juicy floozy staid remission spume,
held in reversal’s timeless easement,
plying buck and board or otherwise,
to skimp along inhalant newsstand stocking grunge.”

(Proclaimed with such authority, as if to signal
supper’s come and gone and nary her fairy
codpiece’s latent motherhood lullaby,
in tandem tamed or utterly repaid
with lucid fleshly blurs.)

Stir Harold, Skeg of Pallid Froth,
Turd Pearl of Doubter Tripedia,
listened dryly, plunging headlong
into wafer-thin custard sluice:
“Quite, yes; breast for brats,
bully for BLT’s, a posh trope,
angered by locales of inflammation
corduroys or carrion lagoons,
if idling séance media medallions
still mean anything.”

“Height of the seasoning, my feared dalliance!”
Amelia, herself no lust than Queeg of Hemp
or Alderwoman of Halted Turnover Smile Quartets,
sawed off a fit of piquant equipage,
baring all 47 of her falsetto teeth,
plushly realigned that selfsame afternoon
in painstakingly paraded adjutant
adjudication lunchroom tryst.

Skeg Harold, erstwhile Hairy O’Turbulent,
himself a wild canoe on mangy an open lake
and prolonged key to heavenly moorings
from God’s Ivy palaces to bedpost-banging district
donor spume receptacles in humble humming format;

well then, Wild Harry was wise and wizened enough
to scare not half a wit regarding formal battlements
in certitude of breaching moats, gunwales,
or fuming in canals, so variously plundered.
“All the more to make ‘em happier to serve the crown,
especially when mythos tattles savory know-it-salt
on peppered fragrant flagrancies,
what none can demonstrate or even dream to prove,
in skirt of laundry woman’s realm
of lured-to-courtyard debutante’s infernal wick
of sanded hourly disputation.”

He paused thoughtfully, swallowing a healthy blast
of yardarm port, puffed long and slowly on a dead cigar,
convolved to ashen eggplant muse, and so continued:
“Slung as so-called seismic activation commences posthaste,
keeping the masses fully hocked and piled in tertiary tasks
of tusk line duty,” eyeing his opponent
(or was it partner; no one moniker will quite suffice),
“I, for one, would certainly welcome regulation outbreaks
of whatever virulent and strange concoctions
our blessed biologics care to cast upon
the albeit already somewhat turbid seas
of our own immodest disrepair.”

Raising one eyebrow, then the other,
finally registering a twinkle,
Amelia, Queeg of Hallowed Turnstile Lawns,
let fly her goblet, spraying
Campers, Neighing Sovereigns,
Charred Oles, and Preening Gringos
in rainbow arch across the table,
soaking Hairy’s whale-trimmed beard,
drenching his immaculately laundered monkey suit,
reducing his fine coiffeur to placid dishrag fair:
“You, for one, for once, can sire a wrecked mutative lot
of seized and fallow terriers, you impudent buffoon,
furrower of slotted termagants, chastened toiler of tail
after hefty snail hooker sniggerer!”

At this, a hush fell over the room.

Servants froze, the music stopped mid-beat,
even the dancers hung as if in time suspended
(every one would swear to dying day
to have remained aloft until
the Skeg of Pallid Froth himself
had finally deemed the moment fit to rise).

By all accounts, for possibly a paralyzingly
interminable skein of five minutes or more,
Skeg Harold sat rigid, silently transfixed,
in thought perhaps or inner rage or simple quandary,
obviously preparing the finest form of regal retort;
or so all present had imagined and would attest
in later biographical reviews.

Finally he shoved back his chair,
the wooden echo filling everyone’s ears
with certain terror of impending purges,
ignominious beheadings, defenestrations,
capsized yachts, tugboats aflame,
drained moats, village idiocy,
pilloried knaves…

He slowly rose, stepped from the table’s disarray,
and thereupon began his excruciatingly deliberate
circumambulations;
first of his table, then the crown Prince’s,
then the Duchess of Elderhairy Fine’s,
then the Harshdupe Furtive Gland’s,
followed by the dreaded inspection of the orchestra pit,
the emptying of pockets (including the conductor’s!),
the discovery of 318 crack pipes, innumerable bags of weed,
half-full snorters, lighters, spoons, syringes,
crumbled pills of opiates, designer shrugs,
time-travelers masquerading as low-level functionaries,
Robert E. Lee in full retreat from Gettysburg (again!),
Charlemagne selling codfish to underage penguins,
a bathroom packed with pharaohs
on parole from Asphyxiation Row.


John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in many literary journals. A collection of his poetry, Intunesia, is available in paperback at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks. His recently released experimental lit-rap video is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

John Pursch: 7x24x365

She’s young, beautifully innocent, a loving mother of two wonderful kids, and like all of her closest friends, she is a serial killer. These days she murders without even thinking about it. Glass of water, swallow, off to work, home on time, fixing dinner, household chores, a little propaganda, into negligee seduction wrestling husband over the side and off to dreaming. 

Lucidity uncovers the occasional thread of ripened returning consciousness, lured to her frenetic coupling thighs, conceived in this century, hoping for rebirth, but maybe too aware by now of snuffed candelabra syndrome’s symphonic flow of laminar smoke, shunting weary seekers back to holding patterns of elusive red light lookalike conquests, yearning to be held again beyond myopic ritual drain to earthen cesspool tankard nozzle runoff spew of sad mitosis loop.

Myriad unending streams of addled semblances recede, regroup, and storm again, lunging in attempted fusion, without options, focusing on yet another lovely womb, far beyond return to clarity’s simple sanctuary, nodding into diving mode, ascending tubal inner pilot realm, conceptual until conceiving, pleated seams of syphoned identity in merging unanimity, now satiated with the coupling hosts and hoping once again for tensile strength against perennially sloughing walls, to fall in silent agony of multicellular opulence to fetid sacrificial lumber yard of pre-bone staggered homicide’s unconscious motive-free resistance. 

To try again in logjam splendor, crash against a billion seawalls of coupling catastrophic thighs, from early morning sleepless drift to nooners quickening the heat of languid weekend wastage wooed to dinner-movie-orgy clubhouse cataracts of lusty selfish pleasure grafts in quaffs and cackling swallows, across the cratered divide of urban moonscape sapience.

Of course, she cannot kill alone. Her accomplice is equally ignorant and even more responsible for their murderous routine. Worldwide, the death toll racked up by couples like these is far beyond counting, even the estimates are shockingly difficult to compute, let alone fathom; probably in the billions per year, accelerating annually. The guilt is impossible to avoid; we are all involved. Blood is everywhere, the world is softly crying, above and below ground, charnel and carnal. Even those wise enough to stand aside are hip-deep in flowing organs, dismembered torsos, winking heads, clotted ears, matted hair, the detritus of limbs and lost dreams. 

Wars rage on around the globe, waged by millions lucky enough to survive conception’s cutoff, grown to train for weaponized employment’s customary murder role of supported soldier; but these acknowledged killing seas are miniscule specks of blood dwarfed by the flood of casually redirected freshly conceived seekers. The backup in the bardo exceeds imagination, threads are stacked in endless loops of nested consciousness, confused beyond measure. And yet, inertia continues unabated, tidal wash of recombined awareness swimming through the blackness in between to sprawling rows of softly glowing couples going at it ‘round the clock, in hopes of breaking through to rebirth’s gasping breastwork chasm of brutish loutish escapade as newborn human being.

Strangely enough, she is simply a tool, a vehicle for mass murder, backed into a corner and raped by her husband, her lover, confidante, friend, father, random stranger, men everywhere. She is habitually objectified and reduced to a rack of bones, a pleasure platform. She and her sisters are being gangbanged around the clock, 7x24x365, strong-armed into submission, duped and forced to kill their freshly conceived children in the most physically streamlined, painless, and silently insidious way imaginable. If she attempts to object, to shun the daily swallow, she is marginalized at best, tortured and mutilated more often than not. She has virtually no say in her society, no escape from her role. 

Somehow she staggered through the killing wheel only to be reborn as an anonymous spoke, her feet cemented in the bloody hub, her head spun faster and faster, churning centrifugal insanity wrecking her mind, reducing her to a pill-popping sex machine, a slave with no way out but sweetly deferred death. So she closes her eyes to get by as they mount her and demonize her and sodomize themselves, driven by the nut. 

Amid this admittedly stupefying carnage, billions manage to swim through to new embodied birth. Of these, a handful somehow recall or learn or realize a way to sidle off the cluttered highway, to step aside and sit quietly in the empty meadows, forests, and splendid pristine sanctuaries that still remain on this vast, albeit plundered, planet. There they quickly come to see the opportunity that life and death open to the clear light’s omnipresent love and salvation, even while the billions salivate and tear each other to pieces with their hands and teeth.

John Pursch: Hamsterdamaged

Touched wonderkids crowd the spunlit Dread Light District window sills with hunky hottie bronzed cod bodice fairy tail, sought by pederasts and numismatic journeymen from Coppa Riminme to Palma Dazed Majority’s waxed political cistern of bloated sarcophagi, streaming Hegypped’em hired glyph-itch saleswomen on pedicab inferno trikes and horse-crawl terriers, bleeding sorely wanton festive spittoon contamination burps at grape school pilferers on tranny junkets, carrying impassive locks of dishrag heirloom hauteur into prestidigitation’s nautical shambles of nude preternaturally sympathetic troglodytes on shore leave from the U.S.S.S.S.S.S…S.S.S… Ellipses.

Posturing for pontoon ferry pilots, Hamsterdamaged schoolgirls climb aboard the lucky streetside metal pillars, shining clear smegmatic calling curds of bygone pigeon pachyderms with packaged pudenda, wowing febrile furtive furloughed fondlers with selfsame immolation rites, sending whole tramloads of drooling moldy cuckolds up in charcoal heaps of pyrotechnic spontaneity. 

Bleating copper ash thaw, sorority queens swoop in, walloping the hairless headstone shoulders pressed to Dread Light window dressing’s thousand eyelet overload of purple faction body parts in manacled display stand conquest’s elaboration tonsillitis breath.

Kabuki grins a million gleaming teeth-row hedge semantic raw-truth mottled foolery, addled by mere thought secretion whoop-de-doo of saddle shoes in Flying Touchman catchment sluicing aqueducts of newly piling bile, empirical in colocation seamstress switchyard’s Siamese assembly plant.

“Locking for lung-lost lanky leggings to speed off in feathered reaches, leafy wanderer?” his calm infested deadpan flesh repels halibut the gruel professional hookahs, ant he noses ‘em outa their sidewalk grotto pancake pouts easier than sunrise concurs with matey Massivehippie Rivet’s full reflective slurried face in Lucidana’s Deltoid dawn.

LL-25 just smiles and glitters early morning flashgun lobotic wax pulpit grease-gun wink, pops the trapdoor, deftly swallows Clem from Rotation Alley conveyor belt sidewalk drift to queued confabulatory hustling tank a floor below in musty wading rheumy octane genuflecting mating line. He flakes a number of retroactive shingles for perpendicular analyses, clears the shiny bar, hits disrobing sequence, picked to pickled harpsichord in tonal radiation, standing sodden naked schnockered on pre-shoot forgeries of wiggy highlight mosh pit ketchup-watching zeal.

“Keeps arousal’s plover fetch aggrandized highball statutory pairings, wad with canned stunt pasture raid of plush lobotic beauties, slowly pause here ad my window, shaving trendy fast propels us all from slipshod slow commotion crest to fuel autistic yardarm stupor soar,” Kabuki casual observes to fallow crass mates, encased in traction spume, readied for furious lunch.

Mowing slouch preliminaries, Kabuki stands negated, assembled lung weed endless row of whaling men intent on pure lobotic rust release in servile satisfaction gradient of constant wartime freedom, penultimate grail’s lonely enema retreat. 

LL-25’s atop him now in slo-mo interstitial mound of dueling alligator trappings, blushing matched illegible reducing broth to conned incredulous ingredients of whirled and widening oxen carts in feudal disarray’s engorging postal cramming paginated overflow with hairline whereabouts in dateline giblet chasm hordes of rug burn bliss for natal disregard, inspecting eyelid retinue notation’s frost retrieval, clamoring for pyramidal fiords of clots, orgasmic tone impinging from the cyborg’s missing arse.

And now Kabuki bites the capillary tooth line puncture, swallows hard his time-reversal loop instantiation gel, immediately swivels down with LL-25 to retrogasmic slippage shoot and triggers slo-mo colocation cream to run along her silken floss. 

They’re tumbling off assembly grid to timeline private corridor for extra balls in overtime of unclocked graphical entrancement trip mache. He manages to break off fragmentation tempo blast to leave them stranded then for hours no doubt till daybreak cleanup crew resolves the pyre of paradoxical temporal flak. He’s buried his face where any bile-flooded hulled Americon meal wood instinctively deposit it…

Course there’s shamefully no privacy in this whirled of time drug usury and Clem’s connection’s patently weighted all contingencies for this chance to hijack LL-25 in full erratic undertow for slo-mo interred rotation of her own -- yes her -- drat concocted connection’s mossy defiled at least a she, perhaps a she-bot, nuanced noses scan not hotel mastiff stereotypes or penitentiary tongue nest gyrations in feebly abandoned autistic temptress dirigible divulging sense parades. 

Antler hoot, connected feline time-drag dealer trips a switching spansule, plopping from Waxycan, Days Ago compartment to Dread Light District tryst in heartfelt beat cop flicker, deftly lifts timed frozen LL-25 from Clem’s collapse and takes awash undie wiggled slide, wad weed Clem safely stashed in pauseway pallet term for subliminal sequenced retrieval addled slated crime in slow-culled future.

Sewn from hetero to giggling curls extravaganza, LL-25’s enjoying ivory turnstile hop of turgid torpedo strudel flop this oh-so-fried hurtling morning. Even her lobotic intellect can’t quite parse this newly bound interloper’s secreted identity, though varied notions of self obtain in time drug spheroid entrée sway. Shaven so, tummies shun mired vision’s clod of hindered fistulas and garden variety croutons.

Treason timed rugs are banned from Hamsterdamaged Dread Light auction; whale, eat’s situations chest like dish. Now LL-25’s hashed senselessly outa time, on plausibly one-way bet mossy likely sampling fairy lung drowned-trip ducat through axed seeding leas and sentry seas of Elmo’s spurtingly furtively stun-mop orgasmic and preppily orgiastic delectation. 

Whale chesty shamble a smallish subway shed of her infinite loop, weed fiend of daft hollowing: Myopia’s finest parlance trickles, black through Moldy Groping Umpire’s palatial chattel, streaking pint as Moan d’Aardvark to shaving Hypatia’s lovely flame, teleporting Oleg’s Androidal library to…

John Pursch: Bridgehead Bardo

Coffin door sucked him down below the streets of Terran Hoax to swirling void of Bridgehead Bardo, where dotted i meets question mark in periodic table rot beneath syntactic shovels.

Chief Amoeba swallowed deeply, marveling at kaleidoscopic nuns and daughters, doctrinaire cadaver schism plushly aligned in serried delight, arrayed in daylight trade wind eulogies for wartime vigilante traitors, bombing ruins into mossy auxiliary holding tanks, twirling threads of consciousness in bleeding collared youth from sudden sod return to womb selection preparation bilge, in gradual emergence beyond embodied separation.

Grappling armless, headless stares to immediacy’s unexpected bliss retainer well of unwalled winking eyeless lust for raw delicious orbit surge, to cram again, autumnal creature drainage down beyond cyclonic cistern garb of spinning limbs or oxen parity or swollen grandeur’s imminent collapse in relapse trough to ego frenzy’s death regard retreating flesh deplaning body’s footstool tendon toehold gripped asunder given way to lossage now supplanting fore and afterimages of plight insightful triage overflowing bliss brain burial.

He sudden gets he’s long been dead no waking wonder left to airborne recompense for weeks no months his ink’s run dry a caravan of chariots from here to hearsay’s fluid plop is easing drifting topsoil soaring now to cloudtop yore in starry vista’s pleasing tremble. 

Chief’s no longer just amoebic cells of wonder ponder interplanetary dustbin clamor’s quantum foam in vacuous congruity remembers childhood premises identifying turnstile love participating fully futile whereabouts unknown to cobbled crude existence theorems differential gape of uncapped gravitational collapse indented crustacean benevolence in torpor’s effusive nodal binge to marital recumbent concurrence in cordial acceptance revealing lost insanity rephrased to squabble cover charge penumbral pond of callow being formed in chaste perdition sending mission orbs obtaining softly drawing curvature implying spine lock.

Musty odor roaming freely captured logjam lungs with millions vying crouching squeezing warmly sweating down the garden pathway’s irresistible drawstring haven motile habit bounced from promissory hovel boom to next door gallivanter’s noontime tryst to midnight backseat stallion mood to foreign film extravaganza’s popcorn lasso lassitude in vernal basement sleeping boggling nascent mind.

He somehow caught successful fleeting weightless lunger hooked in bardo exit red light universal portage back up river implant groaning weighty crooning undetected blissful satisfaction plunged with milled parallels in seeping openings to livid geyser total hourly pipeline screamers preening daydreams bumped about on daily walks to routine job line contrail spew.

If only life could somehow what the evidently knotted flashing bloodline interruption guffaw from crazy wind-torn ambulance slush embossed deranged in unseen lack of intent to fallow throughput’s seasonal ardor cresting mottled million castaways cascading cavitation plumbing poor ciliated dreadnought sluice Aegean seizure balking in the whiny runt canned fusion shoddy tautology weddings rung truth demeaning notary pulpit brothel sideline encapsulating my murder in momentary glimmer backstreet bungling carrion landfill vestige.

Whence again flurry contusions furious cantons culled hides estopped delusions of lighter-than-burial bleatings fleeting mammaries sodden dishrag art fulsome denigration futile revolution heading off unaltered suture lines of usury in illegitimate promise supplants embargoed solecisms grubby drab analytical looping wade this fistula of crowned descent in louvered possibilities of passage blocked to turgid couth returning swooping more enjoined to suffer here in bardo free-fall subway carcass limbo.

Cycle off switch clackety crill influx trample without anything shower shave imbibe rework and weld and gradually believe the bardo routine mythos reel adapting sleep to sloughing off awaking landscape bulkhead dreaming daylight functionary dreading what you came for swapping birth’s dissolving memory elusive consciousness receding in contradicted nightmare of feline puff incinerated drag in lightning swoon illusion death elated to be born from eons.

John Pursch: Sylvia

She has been in my body now for several years maybe forever and just discovered recently observed in shadow mind yes in neural waypoints of simple ideograms of thought chalice overload pouring vestibules to glimpse emphatic dawn in hallowed beauty’s malfeasance swoop to world liquid. 

How did she enter unseen voiceless without floorboard creak or hint of daylight pantry bobble capstone greatcoat opening? 

A precipice of merging hair, from auburn sky to beet entendre to backstroke catapult to armchair discourse, undersea ink’s chromatic coma screaming silver yesses and we are running down corridors of brilliant grass on empty stomachs in stigmata overgrowth, eternal emblems of prosaic distress, laughing now a bright yellow cackle ruptures the night, bridging headline pews beyond flickers of cat door ketosis in missing fowl perhaps a wild gazelle flashing half follies into hairline fixtures of her sudden death report to generations barely born, somatic yearlings left to read about water, mighty spans, and frozen flows of pipelined tulip surgery…

The spectacles are off, no tears behind the wooden highlands, shivers all but manifest in cropped cylindrical skullcap semblance of childhood’s interrupted dream compartment canister convolved in floes of oxygen pistons legging out the crunch of gravel courtyard drive-thru contraption shunt. 

We are together early, off and onto intermittently interred blissful slumber’s woolen gasket slightly poised ahead around coronal fusion’s word line cone, spinning tandem overload for all.

“Why?” is tossed away, bobbled to country hills, flipped out speeding windows, splashing passing sky with neon tundra’s guilt guffaw, return embrace, confession’s rented thunderclap often followed deep to fuel line memories of motive habit breathless gusty smile atop her final edgewise page this very week of line feed consequence and burning aloe early morning laundry lamp for infant treason carefully regarded.

And always clocked in droning profusion our numbered daisy wheel emerges glints recedes thought hand eyes touch lapsing into chewed notebooks a fragment digested outline of an inverse profile winking into oblivion.