Spaceport Dunes
Breath lines weave
in snuffled feed lot
trough assemblage plaudits,
crashing partisan coronas
for illogically refuted
pause abutment schisms,
twiddling tiled sacrifices.
Reaching the end
of plural facial oversight,
impassive eyebrows
canter and wheel,
glossed carefully
as funny espadrilles.
Blasting ferns
from emerald thighs,
swaying wings of frolic
coat the severed shouts
of nooner cop abstainee plaid,
schmooze in village sanity,
and crop the golden skylight wash
with sickle shoal amenities
of chosen sable border guests
in epiglottal reflux,
sanding eyelid trips
to smooth abolished
posh attention.
She turned and waded out to sea,
standing waves of formulaic
cobwebs darned in specious
ursine quacking sauce
to shoreline harridans
in loudly shaken
spaceport dunes.
Grins Float By
Blearily she goes without sashaying,
knotted seascape cameos reliving
all her most entropic moments
of augmentation perjury in cordite bloom
and torn war mimicry of sapience left uninflected,
calming her crassly unintended flock
of bovine wanderers
(most of whom would gladly fondle
just about whatever came or even slid adjacent
to their fetid porthole’s doggie stylus
pollenation plex).
Kabuki watches her
in leaves of eucalyptus,
high above the routine
sated pulpy poltroons,
gasping every offhand sack
of dolloped dime-store timepiece
slicker ruminant expulsion crust
for aerated bingo termination turret issue.
Only the hardliners can bring off
believing jellyfish torpedo reporters;
the restive placid junkies wade
in venous gusher contrast,
coping with the likelihood
of jamming micrometer waifs,
two at a criminally frequented wavelength,
bustling headroom air ball
serpentine forgiveness bleats
in satiated dual epiglottal guts.
Grins float by in purple fluid cavities
of glass container lidless iron suction,
dating chosen humming queens
in sappy coiffured hair pickups,
canned vertices, munchy allies,
taut dendritic carrying fits,
and surgically remunerated ganglia.
In Pocket Drips
A smiling duck wears brightly
scuppered lipstick adulation,
descrying a dumbly braying
chieftain’s mocha liquidation fix
at trivia indicative of inculcation
bungee whistle.
Skin sects wrestle lungs
well into benighted shed courtiers,
transponders shiver over shot limburger,
and chosen elephants return
to meekly shelled booze positions,
clumped deftly into journaled inches.
Tundra folds in buckling
waveform rivulets of ceaseless
pedigreed encasement videos,
paused for tribunal inspection rites,
searched from faraway jet stylus
memoranda in pocket drips
of statuary gristle.
Foreign castaways
smear collocated quotients
down ownership’s leggy interior,
flopping sterling screwball vanity
in nested filial retreat to pealing bells
of stammering hummus pleats
on leisure cargo wrapper footage,
viewed by satiated pelicans
till dawn commotion breaks
in squirrely cantilevered gumption.
John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His
work has been nominated for Best of the Net and has appeared in many
literary journals. A collection of his poetry, Intunesia, is available at http://www.lulu.com/
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