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/
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.
A Passing Tram
Even though the sound of a latchkey child fills the city with want, even though a drink of cold water quenches the need of an epiglottal stoplight, even though a busybody persists in the circumstantial release from bondage of many a chosen warrior; the appropriate may never escape the opprobrium of a broomstick, regardless of the efficacy of action taken freely, in purely spontaneous charity. Such is the often perplexing effect of the world’s balance of events in apparent randomness. Probably turns to certainty only in the wake of now. We may wonder why it must be so, why there cannot be another way, relief from wayward verbiage, conceptual couth, illegitimate onslaught, literality, bogus abstinence, vowels out of whack, formal fall from grace to gratitude to gravitational collapse. Finally, the door is closed, as if by accident, but actually by inevitability, and we are relieved, found by relief, maybe even in bas relief of the source of all that is, imprinted on each passing moment, each commitment of fact. A wayward wanderer straggles by, plunges into the evening heat, leaving us to struggle to our feet. Even so, the voices murmur on, passing through chambers of appointed rounds, dimming lights, emphatically living in counterpoint of prevailing silence.