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/
The Ever-Falling Bomb
“Here
I am,” she thought in green dissolving panes of spacetime burbles, flooding
spontaneity within a pair of psychedelic booties, wiggling toes of epsilon
against their soothing soles. Turned her head, surveyed the room, a kitchen in
a Quonset hut, a woman cooking human food, another baby wailing on and on
within a virtual dreamscape of cellular thunder, impressing sensory assumptions
on newly prescient walls.
Her
obviated shins are somewhat out of view beneath translucent thighs and now slip
decades far ahead behind temporal wind afloat in activated time machine to Your
Nuke deli newsstand pews in worship of the ever-falling bomb, creating every
savory hour of ladled shop talk tugboat captain crew aloft in peopled transport
saving yet another million borrowed souls from petrodollar insufficiency to
fresh ideal endless bifurcation into treed domain dementia.
“There
ya go, Lola. Isn’t that wonderful? Yes, say yes, dear,” soaring now in warm
caress of mother’s full embrace, lighting up all circuits, reverts temporal
slip to ground, zeroing to actuality obtained.
Non-Entity
Kabuki
gazes into offshore fog of hazelnut emphatic youth, contemplating life on
ordinary planets, praying for reprieve from prosecution.
“What
have I to fear, anyhow? In the futile analysis, planned pubescent mutation
devolves to feline feeding frenzies well below the surfeit of piebald tire
irons, thrivers, and trundling incendiary devotees of screw-top inner psyches,
inertial boxcar pilots, and flawed phlegmatic Romeos in crawling chrome of
corridor corrosion, stifling any meal hurrahs for subtle wisdom innuendo,
pushed calmly into oncoming traffic.”
He
expects no answer, being a thoroughly atemporal pan-identical non-entity.
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