3 poems || John Pursch

Parabolic Blowgun

Shambles conspire to reconvene,

though elbows banned a hit man’s satchel braid

from escrow’s microbial eviction

long before tea horses spoke of stump plague.

Flipped extrema idolize a fluid effulgence,

contriving to bisect eviscerated Seminoles,

provided exhumation sprites

are exculpated by polarity’s pundits

in pending bulk remission capers.

They’ve been squawking,

bilking banshees for savvy lotion legions

since downy thyme boiled hovercraft into flying hogs,

sputtering soil in subcutaneous cupboard arks,

whaled beneath the turquoise seedlings

of mobile dictophones and idiosyncratic infestation.

We miss the ruining of inky death mariachi fuses

while glistening in the balky sands of small talk bleaches.

Headway slams in trafficked specialties of dusty bier knees,

capped and featured from zesty mortuary sloganeers

on savvy arterial magnetism’s plumped hillside.

Gustatory embers resemble shuffled tidal setting stones,

dating calmly denuded sequins with trade wind activity’s

thirteenth harmonic smoke ball.

Tantamount to grievous wardroom pudge,

chemical mirrors lionize bestial caterers,

stapling garrulous bauble vendors

to thermogenic concert crows,

dicing stacked preeners into sewn munchies.

Have oodles of undefined heroes slept away

nightfall’s parabolic blowgun arrival?

Sheaves of Sunset Strip

Bare furrows file impartial impasse punches,

pasting pusillanimous gearbox drains

to wall-eyed groupie phonograph secretions,

penetrating gestures before bridal gulls

fly pallor teeth to mogul swoon believer sets.

Mainland goddesses float neatly by

elusive Jetway chattel laundry,

mottled with stuffy candor,

peeling teeming heaters

from squirted skyline counterparts

in clockwork silt.

Dancing pinafores ignore

effacement’s hinge of pauper elegance

in slabbed queue goggle tumbler switchyard ties,

coating intern undergrowth

with shoves and tri-winged coffers,

spelling whirled wharf doodles

with fluted ovations of aural distaff sundries.

Undressed torpor stashes tusky clouds

along entrainment’s febrile cushy jawline,

pocking dumpy chandelier mechanics with conjunctivitis,

annular in error’s hulking daytime alley maid,

beneath a spattered pane of gushing Glasgow tern velocity.

Neural hens predicate delectable notary feet

on murky holes of bunting shacks

in basement treble pathways,

cropping shoelace acquittal parties

for downstream janitorial belief

in Quonset deletion souffle guffaws.

Sheaves of Sunset Strip retainers

rend inedible carousers from effulgent makeshift gum

and bodily forgive titration’s canonical infusion

of breviary birdcall insipidity.