Monday, February 2, 2026

"A Feast of Estimated Mosquitos on Board a Train" by Joshua Martin

Blink, a conquistador flashing syntactical balloons lost in broken paradoxical ironing board earthquake fertilizer plants. Classic two-reel slapstick comedies lounge with handheld sneeze guards and spider shinbones splayed like pharmaceutical fluorescent timebombs.

            Sleep lab consultation #1: Weave spindly rehearsals propped against muttering modifiers.

            Grandmother exposes hyperactive quicksand at a volume tearfully counterintuitive yet stuck deep in the throat. An offer, unbiased, open-ended, and excessively linguistic. Inverted gestures reveal themselves to be hermetic.

            ‘Look!’ cries the wandering lice. ‘Neither restorative nor touching eras half-forgotten and boldly degenerative.’

            Who wiped the similes from the dioramas?

            Influenza goiters shrug. An ode to the dawning portico of grinding Bressonian dandruff gardens. Mars vibrates. The arrival of a clearly scrubbed zip code vulture. Charley Chase practicing violin while lying to a praying mantis.

            Zippers prevail on the uptick.

            Some orange bikini glue stick launched dancing lymph node rumination landscape.

            ‘Support system buttercup?’ a puff of portholes asked before digesting butterfly tattoos.

            In transit, maturity contagion carousel temples cannot conceive of The Kuleshov Effect. Extraordinary annoyances mutilated glib vice versa nymphs.

            Long-lived. Thawed. Monographic anchors.

            Here, in the outhouse, sidewalk Bigfoots make excuses for imploding classroom cartoons. Scarecrow safe-cracking microphone throats blush, drifting in monotone fantasy. 

            Trouble began at gravity. Blunt candy lands a classified egg salad gas heart do-wop octopus urinal.

            ‘Sponge,’ jostling catastrophes bellow, ‘at least libidinously focused and conditional to a degree of minimum critiques.’

            Blessed and enthusiasts of toxicological telegraph poles hammer porch swing driveway canyons. What massive factory snakes shoved false beards into a cocoon bridge?

            Orgies of moths. Personification UFO satellite dish ion. Have waxing scissor map, will upend an aquarium. Water feature deluge!

            It jumped the kaleidoscope and discussed erogenous zones. For further aeronautical pictograms, hypnotic forcefields depict sailors chasing underwater dentures.

            ‘Finely tuned spontaneity,’ bioluminescent turtledoves remark over a neglected head wound, ‘scales remain subterranean in order to analyze a series of quarantined antiques.’

            Chasms, dingbats, wailing misdemeanors. Quasi-desperate. Whales adjust to decorative tableaus. Fortune Parajanov window shades fossilizing medieval cosmic stopgap fruit stands.

            The Gish sisters avoiding umbrellas pharaohs, bound for another coyote landslide nightgown. Visionary quivering escape pod halos bend like watering can oyster filaments.

            ‘Who’s a compass and what’s the sense in a springboard coffin?’ a pack of wandering utopian albatrosses ask without having bathed anemic transmissions in decades.

            Pulley system interior echoes. Becoming refuse. Angled so as to invigorate a state kimono. There are bare pumpkins ravaging Europe after the rain. Cut into smithereens. 

            ‘We can mistake puking for whirlpools,’ magnetic definitions plead like buckets of reloaded dollops.

            What sprouts from a tumor? An answer, a cyclops whose anal menagerie fragmented in the least cathartic moment documented.   

            Hometown pig. Aspirin confession. The weather forecast calls for dirty bombs and decaying claws. Sphinx blinds flouting improbable minivan stew.

            ‘Oooooooooo,’ anti-gulping chest hair observes.

            Their treachery at play in the cabbage patch. Forward, disoriented, gradually spotting cabana kleptomania. Shared toothbrush atlas handstand.

            Jerked and wiggling lobster air conditioner snoring at the bottom of the tongue. In irrational crouching staircases, hours must mutilate all mustard luggage planets.

            ‘On guard!’ a half-dripping cubicle shouts before disappearing into a mud flap bra.

            Sudden shivering like dry ice. Diabolical doormats question the fortune of the cinema. Quicksand, Bulle Ogier loading tricks onto a pickup truck windfarm.

            ‘I’m ice cream,’ liquid scholars observe dissolving into mashed potato hydrogen bombs.

            Sudden pouring, unreachable, shredding suspended parachute kerosene.

 

 

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