John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. Twice nominated for Best of the Net, his work has appeared in many literary journals. A collection of his poetry, Intunesia, is available at http://www.lulu.com/
spotlight/whiteskybooks. Check out his experimental lit-rap video at https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.
It turned out to be dogs coughing, all this time, these eons. They were patiently, steadfastly, marking the minutes as a sort of public service, keeping time for humankind. A best friend, not so easily replaced by wristwatch after all! How fortunate that bark was far more accurate than bite. The dilatory canine phlegm fixation, day by hidden hour, by translucent sunrise silhouette, by carefully shepherded human trundle into pewter fasting, hobbled by irregular rhythmic groans and mottled cream in cobbled cacophonous dialects of interspecies interface, relying on denormalized unitary lurches of penny-ante lorries, waxing wagon wheels, turpentine evaporating in midday sun. Meanwhile, way out west, random bipeds were slinging lead at a thousand feet per second, staggering from dry deserted ghastly wooden towns to rivers full of foolish pyrite wishing wells, pressing fat of hand to iron butt of cigarette polonium, speckling the years with flecks of splintered wood, bleaching bones, quiet horses, and the vast uncounted dispossessed of canyon, plain, and forest; shrouded wanderers who calmly went the way of coughing clockwork dogs.