John Pursch



Beachhead Bubble Ache


Hatcheries imbue glossy livery candles
with dreaded segregation pigeons,
dusting off rudimentary alum grates,
resealed in dollops of cuddling wax.

She paws at two-door facemasks,
skimping on carnal poise,
sadly crating ergs of elbow macaroons
in pork pie castaway ignominy.

Called to pharmaceutical bungling,
sour shekels surmount antsy terminology,
sowing classic poking smocks
with alabaster shaving odors.

Straying accretes in eyefuls of plastic gherkins,
juggling shelved hat pins with cloven hounds,
despairing over fallow grain shots.

Peering into spider ferns,
mannish hammocks blend calm urgings
with impasse sieve lock commissary pardons,
stubbing hallowed chalk lines down
to stowaway detergent names.

Leopards paraphrase commotion’s
daytime slo-mo operatic pelf,
cauterizing scintilla broth for
brethren of sea-going hackles.

Ichthyosaurs roust annealing brakemen
from kneepad slumber eyelets,
grossing sebaceous dozens
in a quandary hutch beyond
a beachhead bubble ache.




Gravy Coat Express


Quest not for attribution,
kumquat squeegee breath,
nor for simian pathology bricks,
gearing up for stable horizon kids.

Hairy barnacles speed-dial
battery lassoes in prosthetic heels,
turning yarn to clamped timidity’s
looming pendulum,
spawning a trusty sax chewer
in holstered paranoia’s metonym
of foolish gravy coat express.

Stunned tiles appall
escutcheoned Choctaw pavilion nets,
grafting pluperfect paralysis
to sworn attendant shins.

Shiftless tendons march
from Groin Zorro to Uncle Spamuel’s
lucid camel’s third dinner party,
sensing myriad tongue-tied hikers,
chest-deep in pyloric sod.

Garbage crows again
for granular pain motifs,
spending catalytic bunions
on sartorial gorilla fists,
taxed at thrice the bagatelle’s
encrusted palimpsest of shame.

Landfill ladles swollen taxi dross
above hermetic liaisons,
seizing axial patricians
for swordsmanship abroad.



Quench-Time Splurges


Pineal direction flossed pontoon flatulence
from teetering britches full of merry sand crickets,
perched atop intelligent alternatives to spayed etch pavement,
bucking treadmill chunks of noose defilement sofa churches.

Casually the trinkets grew in linkage infestation,
whipped to frenzied quench-time splurges,
shaved by cool commando clocks,
seeping ear wax diffidence when time would’ve spliced
a hamster murmur chest as wholly wooly wags wound onward,
‘round the neckline’s tanning phases, intimating wrinkled hay.

Moaning adder songs replied to pleasing district shopping spurts,
hoping grainy nests would idle in contraction freeze,
pulling murky anemometers from ceiling choirs or chiral centers,
salted within sundry weeks of solid shoe bean handiwork,
glimpsed by comely anonymity’s prescient scribe.

Outer skinks scratched hoody auxiliary tenses
into droll varoom detainees,
bubbly for buttered words in caramel museum ponds,
weeding snorkels from finned loaf car door legs,
tanned to breeding sound flukes,
whale tuft her stern tiled lipstick conjunction,
be it panned or blasted at a roadhouse clam’s
infernal backdoor hassle.




John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in many literary journals. His most recent book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks. Follow @johnpursch on Twitter or subscribe/friend john.pursch on Facebook.
 
 
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