Wednesday, March 12, 2014

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.

No comments:

Post a Comment