Monday, November 23, 2015
3 poems || John Pursch
Pomp Eruption Payday
Sold to pilfered soup, greedy kitchenette police in Crooked Limb of borough boxcar billy clubs and bayonets on bayou bivouac from diurnal digitalis drop deftly into twins of timid wise guy grunge and dappled thighs of dish-toed dancing Queeg.
Offshore breath replays in silent mint infusion bier from ballyhooed decay to doffed detrital helipads in copulation rites, stoned desperately by nary huff a mullioned crowd-cheer-pleasing pomp eruption payday scrawny cola can of cold coniferous sarcophagi briquettes.
Yes, eyes snow tare hiss hallways grooming snuff savory man’s lonesome hard fair chest an altered galleon of compunction, rationed bide a touchstone sandbar fuel decree.
To giblets of imperiled charity and chastity hound faith hand hope sounds freely blond frivolity in frolic beach bomb lover tours of solitary Tie, Howayan, Osteopithical Sauce Trailian Parrier Grief.
Arftipili quodenturon hop chairingson
proctilian scepter prawn smelter blon
tumica ranabule isticle premulon wobble,
scim tortuon gorfle of gobblerquen
intermistular hepti pharangumon orally
somesquatch pendicular oscil.
Entriforn grupunert mephtioc
orsiam in pultipupipular sortie seas,
morphing into preparatory crenelations
of high quease torpedo trance scarabs
on motu barricade inference of hefty
preferential yacht coulisse.
In Zeroed Time
A question burbles, blown from whales bequeathed to steepest waves of bygone lust and bony-fingered histories in fully phlegmatic musculature.
I stare at dockside clock hand sweep till analog converts to pixelated digital delay, all ones in zeroed time, and instantly believe in reified sensations tunneled into furrowed prows of tugboat terminology and terminus of waves collapsed in floating diatribe of longer shoreline manacles, Manichean mucilage, and concubinal concupiscence.
Chiding goal seekers chill refurbished benefactors to the bona fide munificence of all multicolored astigmatic birefringent semicolons of fierce lobotic wanderings.
Pentagons spin down to callow cotton daydreams, flossing mottled hawks with musical cashews, clipped to periodic placemat stains beneath an elbowed crust of burnished brakepad bread, lined with silicates of syndicated kettle fusion shoes.
I lurch from island filibuster pleas to curbside lounge elopement chair to lopped sty scrolling forgery of blockage credo confidence, wondering why headaches cut me off at past pastoral parlor gamut cul-de-sac corrosion.
Just gimme that gimcrack gumball, garrulous governor gone guffawing to Gallipoli or titled teary-sighed Galapagos, siphoning gaslight casket creaks from pending walrus paperweight machine.