3 poems || John Pursch

Picking Prescient Lobsters

Bones draw squatters

into slowly capped precis

of precinct blue sagacity

and sparse informant noumena

for sexy tensile treadmill bites

of credible sand.

That's what she pets for

gleaning inclination birth

from sassy gumption teardrop

twine in unexpected dread

of shadowed forehead clicks.

Her doctor murmurs

from created spurts

of borrowed limit

farce extrusion sips,

but sooty pores prevent

searchlight carrion from

spearing her wayward

emanations,

which crush an innocent

threadbare pant leg

with sirens.

Funny sores have scum

and goners scurried

knotted paths from

coning simulation craws

to island betting zonal schools

of house betrothal insect alum,

picking prescient lobsters over

peachy putter paddy fragments.

Against the Evening Shadows

Expurgated thoughts recede

in miracles of cozy somnambulance,

wailing down one-way city byways

in lawful disregard for canny

ventriloquism’s panned political

evasion, treading ink.

Stained thighs suffocate transparency,

postulating looped intercoastal surface themes

of squalor, tutelage, and morphed remainders,

dallying in fishing villages.

An old wooden boat,

sturdy and well-studied,

its pages turned

to leaves of solid brass,

increases with devalued poplars

against the evening shadows,

lapping up the shoreline.

Catching as only cobbled catchwords can,

cocooned cacophonies clip exotic nuance,

shipping stunned rats to martial amity,

amazed at every turncoat’s buckled floorboard,

creaking into silent seams of time-trap monotony.

Announcements come to mind,

shearing corn in copulation woes,

theorized from straw to sand.

Blasted Nerf Repair

The sky is blearily clued,

dotted beauty foundering

on shores incipient

to lay adornment’s

incandescent codicil.

Orchestras decamp in planar viscera,

sounding softly to canonical scatology,

lifting castaways from curbside dregs

to pea pod federation looms,

sighing callow heiresses

in warmly shelled synonomy.

Pastiche plays crown

phlegmatic orators

with tawny meteoric cries,

benching brokered salamanders

every fulsome coronation,

searing seagulls to the aria’s

bounding cadence.

I wonder feral moments

under blasted Nerf repair,

stiffing noon for alphabetic luminaries,

spline informant caravans,

and caramel surrender blooms

of dated miniatures.