Tuesday, November 10, 2015

3 poems || John Pursch

In Distillation Glue

Wichita Tatt of Ratatouille Lou punts cobbled thighs and potted teasers into steep terrestrial pouting hoists of pretzel salt and spawned brachistochrones, soiling canonical comics with motorcade seclusion beef in billed pox thatch of roomie exhumation crates, sold flexibly to Monocle Munitions of Molly’s Mazel Tov Crockery Tails, the finest purveyor of shackled hands, gown-length studio deportment clauses, sandy fellows in tony breech pads, guttural ghetto gals, gullible ghouls, and garrulous gadabouts, groping for crassly crowing casualties of yet another nearly combed revival wingtip (hosed or nautilus-imbued by sundry tightwad intercom sequential bowels).

Hash you mired imagine, reports of tundra cranapple compendia continue unabated, bluntly shin-regarded scrawl the bloviating bulbous sedative gobblers what pup you laid these screaming shores, from tease to spiny thesaurus eyes, spanning cheesecloth globes to sieve through the consonant sobriety of quartz, defibrillated hickory, pan Antigone of depleted your amiably urinary housing tracts, sullied cracks, collared sacks, and hallowed poultry lanterns, lit by friars in stimulating primrose succulents of grossly garnished chapped quips, stationary apex hubs, and craw-stopping tumbleweeds in distillation glue, served hypothetically blotto to transcendental fumblers in a finely pedaled filigree of frozen parasol charts, nary a yearly horoscope from straw-name predilection bases to pyre-inflected chromium confusion seminar pollution fodder, sapiential udder hot stitch mending, illusory sons of planned plebeian counterplay flexing modern truffles way asway afar akimbo atelier-blonde-pasty mints in succor’s grandly squealing ever-circling lollipop.

Main whale, the clock moved on, sucking everyone’s strife dry, fixing sighs of eyelid moan and curious contumely combs in gnarled fictitious hair, dumplings be daubed with chelated Spandex-spackled disco queens from stuccoed decades lung swept blind by bubbled deeds, leaving parenthetical asides in heaps of thankfully recycled bodies, pilots schlepping for another cribbage cowling cockpit’s glaringly resigned perspective.

Hens or River Dumplings

Arcti quilibon tumidor frogal
pentilamutian progami palpular
grontumion squogle,
plen arichteon snoguggle clan
mutivous orsnumiad ploptuli hargde,
cwonnie prentorible
senor bufom hexiglaph charp,
swen triebianne amchular erian
mordiaph trupuppen sinean mander,
plor hens or river dumplings song
qualitatium frobubble snoz,
wetter sneeze pleizegam ookle
eres twodour phalligrancies
trum galitar strangians huppel
elimandiaq ialogical maze
hovegull schiwippenzie reudemon
chroudum quon slogtart presitcat,
eger belicrostician dal alimo drudial
winker flom calats ave perriched
neura gotyphian oomer gloph!

Sleeze-Bot News

A flip of backhand slot car finish slides the flashing demographic demagogue down caravans of avenues in crisply cross-sectioned biped Torquish bughouse math-bat dry-off contestant gust, spawned laterally to loafer lures in garrulous oboe cramps, belongings blurred to ghostly elbow alimony bumps of brazier etiquette embargoed for a barbequed emetic collarbone, protruding whence a dare was once eviscerated.

Shaven meekly, spinning pun pole quietists slice Earp Trowel Heap, the Plural Reign of Pleurisy, with burped terrain and tainted everglades of greener postures from deranged delayed replies to stupid fountain jamborees of love’s reputed flames.

Amid the gash, he sings along with anthem seekers everywhere: “Swo-bo-dia, Cri-me-an Spee, bods fled tare weight song me, panned towns of hoods wit bothered woods, frumpy due spi-ny sei-zures!”

Hash if dish swerve not enough, poor ole Aphasian queen of strong and slippery scream, the wan hunt stonily stoned for impish back lot perpetuity; yes, the perpendicularly stuttering cougher of suffragette wheezings, chariot draggings, oyster shills blended into finely scrappy armpits; habitually off Corsican sights of laudatory sleeze-bot news, icon lonely pee-squeaking of the swan, the comely Hiya Patio Lee (nee Nothing of perhaps a sword-wrapped surname lost in ancient Alexandria, swelled before the planetary name change).

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