Wednesday, July 15, 2015

3 poems || John Pursch

Per Octal Shut-Eye

Everything could hold in days
of early cottage sun ship sins,
trampling grill cab pendulums
in military arch portrayal,
flexed oh sewn caustically
by flippant chit sots blown
to shiny knicker blackouts
of Salisbury Quaker
moat recision pomp
in elbow radiation.

Tuned to pesky tatters
for premeditated margarine,
our leering fistula exclaims:
“I’m humid!”

Itchy traipsing thermidor
in sensate grave return
will pickle standing model
aliquots of tapered jelly node
appendages to frizzy hangar
ponderers hoot parry swale
joust mildly curry onto hung
light booby draperies in
bandsaw separation torch
of lowered grist crustacean
metal agony.

Inhibition cupped egregious
lupine ease in dendrite antics
cloned to haggard ergonomics,
flown through saddled pie
monkey dormitories by toes
who glumly peg upward.

We cleft offal phlegm
statutory palisades of
trill hope sedentary estimates
to hapless purge in aching welds
to climbing closet thighs to peanut
parakeet per octal shut-eye.

In Zeroed Luge

Wooed a chute of specious
sardonic one-time paddling
into buoy nags down mustard dregs,
mummified bolts of siren sheets
caught with sanding duels,
staged for braying pachyderms.

Swans tomb any hump wore
floundered Auntie Shoreline Shake
of quipped heretically grocered
pipsqueak noons, canned in caste
my urn of shallow hash.

Tug broth obtains threw ought
cratered Your Nuke arboretum,
signing slattern nuncs
hand noons sand nuns
sans foible annex adjectives
above deep rooted pleats of cursive
steeds in topsy scurvy chicken puce

(a sorely sneered hat scarcity
of sons in where swig alley weighing
caisson nod with spaniel ink of icon
ichthyology polled selflessly till swans
in zeroed luge snore elsewhere).

Trouble Fun Reset

Locals speak lobotic
scrimshaw catapult
dialect of onshore schism,
clotting frozen sighs to
screaming somedays,
bending allusions to
piecemeal inching pleas
and diabolical correcting glue
of nudie parlance dings
combined in sleepy tallow
trips to dipstick perpetuity’s
occasional imbibement locket. 

A viable duck floats by,
clogging retinal charity
with ribald eyeball barriers
and misappropriated foundlings,
wound furtively to mourning.

I carefully remove
detrital wanderlust
from plastic scarlet favors,
shipping tucked toxins
to hosed ounce sniffles,
plucked from baseball
corrugation helm
retainer teeth.

How can emissaries
shovel wistfully into the night,
cranking eerie wind-up follies
before can-can tumor collagen erodes
to feigned roars of bungled punji
jackrabbit zooms pent handily
in trouble fun reset?

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