3 poems || John Pursch

Homage to Captain Nabob



A placid, yet formidably vituperative affair, the War of 1812. Cannon, crossbow, erector set; houseboat, logjam, can of mace; smokescreen, fishnet, anthropoid; will do, Cancun, firepot, hambone for Uncle Bob; and nether the leather shall tether the unsuspecting bellwether stock; eye be them, the most rusted mane in erectronics. Working day and night, the women and men of the waveolution splashed upon the shores of O-say-can-you-sire-a, Nude Hamster, near the Vermin border. Now that naked hamster ain’t got a chance against them vermin, I always thanked, but ye canoe, he do and does and did whup them varmints, played a bit at complete annihilation, then screwed the placato-switch to quick-start the prostate, causing a bowel alarm. Rods out of the water, cracks in the containment vessel, the Seine shrinks, bridges stand dry and deserted, monuments to the atmosphere, the ruins the epitaph, the epitome of epiphany. Hope not, bland storier, thine building shall not crumble... Nay, Captain Nabob, the Flintlock of Firing Pin, Barlovia was tied by spatial interests to the gradiating glass of pi-teen-o-wow, City of Norumia, Lost Blemish.







Many Quicksands



Fuzzy pathways sometimes missed, time just a means for processing the sample set, of the set, many elements, differing only in their time of collection. Pop-top haven for criminal blacktops, asphalt on the lamb, severely restricting the animal’s mobility. Champion dart man Pethronius misses the whole board, simply contemplating strip mining of the ocean floor, forgot about the water, but only after a billion had been squandered on research. Growing fish from plankton, via the crab, a slow but sure reaction, catalyzed by amniotic fluid. Bought the special molds in Paraguay, the gods yawned on easy times and cranked everything, amused with the orchids, the opera shoes, a farm of escalators, menus and bobcats from eras gone over the rapidly rising banks of tidal rivers near you; coming spoon, knife, and fork in the toad worth two in the fender, sayeth the mailman. Clamor for the starlight, moon decides the day, holding for the barfly... Many quicksands. How many? Heading which way? What size? Do they have tigers, tramcars, or turpentine; trampolines, turncoats, trundling toys tied to triangular trench coats?







The Cantorovan Malize



Gormelodifrob on hentorichore

and hexoricam end fondeliborg

con circelimorfus keng panduckle bint,

erd frammle and bandular orbleteecorps;

engen harfinur octar fem staliture pheenj.



Segs ceramit ind heng unar eppel,

alomitous pengen sher zamit anure,

earie hemgular plent and democutous,

cremzonic porfilians, who teck

and garemp the mintiduous bront.



In al depsian kiktabule,

og vasting and pooritain, moracious quob,

a spedgle of encruquian mobtops

plend wherulian honts

fer einth pluzzent friemonts,

sneshing a mard, uvian gropefronze

till enter naderheimers egest

the cantorovan malize.