Translucent Backwash

by John Pursch

Pondering atolls from low orbit, motives slide to plywood gumption, revolve in slurry stoles, and grace a limbic chambermaid, peddling gators to a streetcar gland. Sheltered windows peck impulsive skewers of peeping flan, cubing lopped-off implications, fielding inklings by the bucket. Tribal ruses stalk bulldozers in steeping trees, separating chutney from chimp caresses. Elongated gristle fools an airborne tremor, bifurcating oily beats, stashing silt downstream. Virile sandstorms hum blowguns in crazed alarm. Brilliant sentries pinch a sleeve, startling cork horses, deftly perspiring down crawlspace tubes, paneling the sky with skinny palates. Sightless in perfection’s swollen rift, offal claims aphasic quibble, hammering out a metronomic well. Dice cascade through turnstile locks, bulging at a trapdoor check, mothering an aging wheelbarrow’s foolish charade. Simperings of a trolley’s bluesy onset, arrayed in dormant years, break blonde atria with delicate aplomb, extricating burnt gyrations. Vernal crates shop for gravitic tundra, hoovering spent soul food into worn-out myths, creasing thematic nebulae with gusto’s easy penance. Filching a few survivors from shimmering doorsteps, shambles convert the gazing crust to cheesecake whiz, phased across an algebraic credo. Functionaries plead through breadboards, stifling earwig dock suffusion, racing indicated paste. Gargoyles greet the seal’s cycloptic owner, feeding regal ghosts inhaled pneumatic wax, clarified with backwash haze. Dawning pixels glide across a chiral faucet, seeping out of transit mist. Snow retreats to trusted noses, laughing in slowly scanned rhapsodic ale. Epigrams defer to implants, thoracic limits preach of pliant want, and inseams counter treasured stoats. Plover pines for stuttered windward markings, spilling vases of miasma, longing for blue countryside. Needles gown a boxcar phantom’s plushly bodied scalar blurts, shedding translucent ease, prying travesty grains from stationary torts. The carnival’s tombstone nadir, now radiant, accepts a jumpy egg. Timing long-forgotten names, troglodytes scan a fibrous vestibule, paying for an engine quaffer’s graceful disregard. Lightly coiled bones surprise epaulette detainees, shouldering mosaics of a tweaker’s iron tide. Only thus denuded, stump by glorious rump, in the pleasure suit of every ivory innocent, we gear for harder hills and dipsy dales of heartland burn and amicable antacid heat. A fleeting tribute to booty shores, on many furtive dusty knees, graven into sandy troves of unseen woolen coins.