by John Pursch
No one would notice, if not for the plant effect; went out of business and onto the rodeo circuit, opening a fish hook with a cat arm left, twenty peat to the fin, who wood off the pith wayfarer; topped it off the teeth, clay journey’s mental work, on the drain for staves, building a fence from scratch. Collect them all, save pollable risers for use on tomorrow’s wallpaper, donuts, and ornamental straws; faded license plates, pennants, scaffolding, dump trucks; vol, full, bezet, not a bed in town… Healthy smokers, a laugh a second, crazed dance crowds, the human churn, just carried off with the flow, bottleneck, the music stops, the eardrum strains in a tunnel beneath the Alps… Pass out over the bill, hire penguins for sandlot game, line up romantic zeppelin for sycophantic sarcophagus, new act with no tread marks. Clear glass pylons, banners of impending urinals, nanoseconds played with such a plumb, the prunes gave up and hinted at momentary windfalls. "Don’t leave!" the small rotisserie shouted.