Errata Shale

by John Pursch

Phoebe punches out Amoebic timeline, hovers shoeless into airlock, catches cladding, hits the streaming concrete’s Your Nuke ambience, swimming rhythmic oddity for tertiary gig. Firstly concupiscent player, seconds as dumb waitress ala cufflink shop, finishes her onset hours running coffin concession uptown till waning crowds trip regulator dust to sand her heels to personal horizon basement, whereupon we all sleet. 

It’s a simple door, one-way ticker tracheal ostrich feed, harries the lost bedraggled few, picking off an innocent straggler every second or so, slipping imperceptibly from subway flow divert to coffin entryway to disappear from Dearth forever join communal bathing party topless to be sure dissolved for reassembly at the end of graying human funnel likely transport MJ-12 migration to a better world but first the coffin generates obituary causal death report evaporating body bag zipped coronal undoing facile fawning of funereal reality phased to optimize informal flood election scrapes hegemony in taut reprise. 

Hardly ever advertise explicit lure of coffin carny’s so precisely calibrated could sweep entire city troubadour in damage maze but quotas only so much flesh required today something in a barker’s paltry belly commodified demurral augments war mache’s ability to drain the dearthly denizens from hosed unviability to any of innumerable boxcar realms controlled by lobot superstars, like MM-33 perchance to dovetail with germinating neon means in greatcoat surprise. 

Presumptive walk-off carrier smidgens lookie laborers stagger through coffin door enticed by Phoebe’s dusky smile perhaps or siren’s sigh on aerated pillows. Painless integration soft alarm promotes to laughing existential nether humbling in the guise of state belief immersion breath in holding tank’s identical waveform. Deferential technicians slowly turn wading pool recursion baffles, prepping filtered sequences for combinative sacrificial computation juggles, popping out a prom queen couplet’s indigestible prawn in rank ardor, stiffened star crust huddling near uxorious center fielder, preying on errata shale.

“Sumptuous grouping tonight. Mowed how many mangy citizens of Your Nuke’s finest straits?” Skidly Marker sidles up.

Phoebe simply smiles and nods, briefly glancing at his shades, chesty lunge enough to let a hundred lunch pail owners off the hook, dooming them to one more dearthly day of blackened lung in grimy causeway recompense for Dramamine dawn infusion. Deriding homely laudatory pillars, wandering wad went right, how’d I menage a trial-and-terror stacked appraisal blech in famished reliable humming dungeon whence an n-gon splayed me hair for haul weir worldly urchins toll.