Sunday, December 14, 2014

poem || John Pursch

According to Manatees
Unfurled captive aerosol groupers
swim freely into store-bought youth
containment vestiges of itchy hallways,
flossing coral feelers clean off
the beefy round surf line hurlers
before blurred cave-inching parties
can dabble in fleeced retainer juice
capitulation drool.

Heaven smirks down
on notarized munitions deals,
compounded to farmland bustle
and stubbed to stuntman kitsch,
discarding flavored offhand wanderers
with just so much penitential dust,
governed by owl heat.

So much for capital punishment,
banished by pugilists
from dog house tender fleets
of wooden macadamized nougat,
borne dourly on the saving crests
of frothy diplomatic yarns,
from Slower Pindropia
to Cauchy’s Deviled Hamster’s
pejorative denouement,
sold to cake queens
in cowering indignant paginal sundries,
heading for plainly coated
inguinal preparatory nun’s hens.

According to manatees who visit the tendrils
of regret machines in semi-annual dry-dock,
lockets left by sounding parties
in the crunch of Frowsy Isthmus Repair (circa 1407)
have recently been turning up in radical card rooms
near the port of Breadly O’Simian,
in frivolous waves of crimson detrital flood jets,
known hourly to local sandwich vendors as
Ankle Shim Express Entendre Souffle
or Cremation’s Final Kith.

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