JFK-18

by John Pursch

Lola’s welded into mache warpage, unison’s only shot put, flexing brainy hymnal tangent seas with ample oracular veins, breeding thought patronage in baronal study feats, plying nap landings into stickered figurines, plotting a cursory traction speech for bruiser-bottled belly dancers. What paused for pineal piloting a hindered yore echo wheel know surface against a ghastly altar’s plural freeze, in mottled grassy lanes, sideswiped in blurry courtyard meals, fiercely reductive over stumped urns.

“Heavenly mess,” she mumbles softly, scarcely audible to her minutia charter’s blenderbox, recording caught neural glimpses of slightly divergent worlds, ulterior resting ponds for loss, formulaic expectorants of glacial undertones be ramrodded into exploding fodder wheels.

Turning to finery’s cruising dowry, she clears to temporal gust’s ontological seas, sets local delimiters to penguin stretch, androidal to control, granting unbuckled aisle walk, timeless drifting now to railcar cigarettes, rolling hash junket coach retreats, laminar eyes foveal in distant piston ice. Shifting to sudden blotter, she muses on trollop points, an embassy of fine wine and sheer embattled grace, her face flecked with tensor chatter, iconic Andalusian steam.

“Two more circuits and I’ll stick for weakling art or dendritic trough, city hovering sate,” mumbling slowly to no one in particle.

Confidantes argue for tighter broach patrol, hinting at a pyre, but she talks it all in chesty gout surmise, tossing back in altered beau loll suit, enjoined in show. Whimper they rally spleef waddle terpsichore enough, eatery on clear jive, or fooling wash code scenery on here; null weigh owe is Lola’s sham durable she’s on glide path for JFK-18.

Kabuki’s climbing down to level dreams on dearest knight’s lunging armoire, whence he’d fell on oily Thames a hand-fed yore ago, Aegean spiels of wade-locked regrets be sidewalk sequestered till horrible livery starters cry to referential tufa blogs. He’s elsewise head epoch, shamed a tad, in mightily loose fee entrancement for a pilot, opining glossy yangs of yin, lifting on unbalanced dorsals, hatching carousels for RFK-26.

His trajectories are ill beyond rebuttal, hefting neighbor mist a pleat, hallways bringing his million home safe unsound, open windows fluttering interstellar bleats. Sum dimly lit dung about the timing of time travel, net even Juana seizes per this loaded day, and she deigned to sign the foisted missionary stew that spurted this holy enterprise, this migrational craving, that’s brought a planet back from starvation’s comely headwaters, to brink of premise.

Snow tableau undone, Cowboy Ike’s bearing strung and eyesore true, staid for the lust and heftiest of our tertiary whirls. Thinking, dreaming of a banner drawl, Ike deftly sends them packing, crossing countless county splines, spilling empirical antics in dotted blinds, filling grapes with lottery clues, splashing scarlet vintage from spores to spiny pleasure roots, gushing millions at pot roast hostel dues, ribald and ensconced in soda.