Halfway Hostage
Holiday
Tersely shelled concavity
is gaily slung cacophony
spelled awkwardly
in half-response to
poultry circulation,
stuck quietly with
pushy kin.
They crawl like poshly
tensile spinning stuntmen,
frisked of coverall seclusion,
slowly basting pillows propped
atop a balky ladder.
Back away, expository hostages;
sending empty pothole faults
to cooling dowry’s astigmatic
sensor seedlings warns of
armistice injunction.
Effluvia rescinds encounters,
chilling doubt from gumption’s
constellation crannies,
struck by stucco irrigation
dreams of balance beam
collisions.
Suburban Fun
I know nodding calmly
combs the bleached pone’s
cordovan for smoothly
surgical emplacements,
flitting gunnery sacrifices
from turgid walrus emissaries
to tightropes caulked with
sextant grease gun overflow,
lapping loafing courtyard
derelicts with beautiful
bucolic babies.
When caseloads extricate
wronged fisticuffs from
bifurcating penance,
surely sanded oculists
can tipple into unseen squalor,
leaving sleeveless cuspidors
in shallow disk recurrence.
Rallying rotunda grease
to sate the stately deities,
internal riots blend to
late-night bully poplar trysts,
expelling sundry clover malls
to crossed suburban fun.
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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