Diffusion Kids

by John Pursch

  

Crackles fill the airborne remnant’s button-pushing sketch, reeling in bottled otters, tending elevated gables till doorstops make the highwayman’s moody grade. Depths of gristle plump our wizened flecks of gray, chopping whirled designers for faux fashionista pleasure carts, impeding floral gargoyles. Scratching ahead, glancing off a sigh, possible heroines immerse themselves in ancient print, grazing for contextual hothouse treats. Closed search quandaries, visible from heifer heights, cull a furry thermometer’s diet, worming their whipping screams into a quietus of snaps, resultant and detuned. Rattling cables signal the departure of elevation suites, preened and gated, timing their wallets to encoded insect bells. Sheet putters clear a dog-eared legging’s socket fence, shanking huddled munitions, crossing pentagrams with allusions to pureed weeds. Detention rolls paternal chambers past guardians of floral fate, itching for superluminal onsets, saddling sloped trials with substituted triune hues. Humps defer to coupled diffusion kids, singing of blasted rectories, enraptured and aloof. All the lapped lung’s wholly wheeled particles of silent screech, expressive and entrancing, piece apart a mountain’s truthful sketch, oblique in its entirety, marching to a watched enclosure’s pliant sample.