Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Shame on Sammy

by John Pursch

Velour scrunch never was recited more canonically than annual satyrs fashioned from squalid ocean hut armories, sifting pallets for bullion, filching banyans of highfalutin raspings, pillaging cowering fuselage stockades, crumpled into minstrel tea. Nuances disappear, addling the lightest slouch with stairwell lorry signposts, hindering berated gallons of postcard clues in gravel kitchen oratory’s bejeweled retracement. 

Hidden mentors bark at troglodytic moccasins, trying ontological featurettes in shedding navel blues. Roomy aeration grates on meager witchcraft junkies, festering in salad. Gazebo haze erodes to karmic redolence, shadowing espied collaboration’s wacky seamstress, copping hearty lineaments of hemmed-in mosquito jargon’s only barrage poltroon’s garbled basement sale. 

Your Nuke’s naked sunrise grows in stocky repetition, plugging macaroons for deltoid daisy chumps, slumbering through moaning marrow’s swooning necrophilia, slipping idly off derailment’s nodal nectar lode, pulled to tethered cormorants and wheedled auspice Geritol commercial shouts of animation’s editorial encumbrance.

Ineluctable frugality pauses to bounce in shallow watchword chasms, springing diamondback creation sacks on sunken scepters, allergens bedazzled by musical inklings of tartar. Sheared themes bay in momentous signature pylons, sequencing cemented gnomes to frontal pardons of eighty alluvial flavors, burnt indelibly for fatuous gentlemen to guzzle in mid-day matinees. 

Shame on Sammy’s perspicacious purple popsicle salliers, learning to spay cetacean dumplings in twenty furious fluoridated crates of juicy validators, fed to celebrated ionizers by the mourning son.

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