Lemongrab Suburbia
Monotonic
wrestling pairs converge on spiritual racetrack dwellers, hawking space-time
wares of fleshy bodice counterfeit illusion capers, draped in solving volume
carapace confusion kitsch of duty, cockatoo concoction grease, and
snow-flambeau of juicy heron overkill.
Primping
before a mirrored catapult deploys near Syracuse, Hark the Mediator finds he’s
staring into dusty plains above Tyrrhenian seascape enfilade of javelins,
javelinas, and shoddy Grecians, spurning whitecaps and speckled cupcake grout
from somnambulant grotto geysers.
Sold
to salivating gypsies for shekels on the sandy collar, Snowbound Crates the
Sacked and Vilified Fastidious Disguiser of Champagne Parthenon Palooka Brains
finds that he, too, has been hoodwinked by the mastiffs (hummus masquerading as
dog-and-phony showtime girls), rending his philosophical meanderings into only
so much galleon slop.
He
breaks his bat against the switchboard sandwich aisle’s containing rail, asks
for scoffing teaser meat, and winds up satisfied in slot satiety’s flavored
oven (scads of ghetto alleyways beneath appalling cinder cones of windowless
apartment blocks, spilt Sobeit-style in Sixties Lemongrab suburbia, crawling
from burned-out city limits to Ma’scow rail line aqueduct of false diffusion
peppercorns and smooth decay to antelope delusion semaphores, sold perilously
close to Spearian experience of Jetway hollering in goulash plot to stymied
doorman bookie glide down Fully Velveteen sipping centroid).
John
Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. Twice nominated for Best of the Net,
his work has appeared in many literary journals. His first book, Intunesia, is available at http://www.lulu.com/
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