3 poems || John Pursch

Escapee Gel

People cackle at pixelated sports figures, swilling grapevine overflow from vast communal vats of perspectival perspiration, quaffing hot springs of crawling anterior insecticide, only to divulge diurnal secretions at the first hint of bubbled gumption torque replay, bent on populated cylinders of raw toroidal battery aptitude.

Solutions resent themselves, devolving into canned apteryx prolegomena of extradited interplanetary fugitives in mummified drainage ditch cooperation relays, from buxom bucket-passing buckaroos to stolen headgear temptresses of tautologically refined handy crampon chirps on partly paradoxical Parisian policies in placid taxidermy lines beyond erupting pallet rehearsal slabs.

“Onward!” barks a crabby cabbie, head all haphazardly extruded by an extemporized extremity of win-swine countercultural delusion docks, sweating out low-slung horsemen in four-squire hunts for shaven yearlings on plasticity’s moody neuronal disputation mix of corncob wax.

“Oooh…” a murmur of escapee gel eludes even the comeliest of clipboard criminal jousters, justifying marginal urchins so tall and hebephrenic, freaking into born-against swindles, staking leeward bellowers to jellied boasts of slowly bending curds in axe estrangement peptide cores, wrapped to headstand card room sparks by malt mechanics on elopement leaf integument suffusion busts of Ornery the Haight, Cringe of Conned Sanguinity or Placid Peebles, the Plexiglas Screed of Rocktagonal Slapdomino Centaurfolders, glomming onto steered rectangular proving cretins on pillbox-sudsy quarter-mustard siphon skates or sights distended just for me or spartan catching cloves a-smoking from soldered mental groins of sorrow to temporarily misplaced punctuated dishrag decontamination quilts.

Off course, the busboy would have hollow wells of ancient wicker headboard bungee chumps to splay in quip-lick satiation flick of several wimpy lisps in stumpy soft serrated jump slots, giving cover to teleporting dogs, imploding gerbils, ferrets on parole from gauzy doe-eyed cabaret girls in feline deafness adoration slams of antsy religious coveralls what stonily depict an ethereally nubile naked jellybean collapse of tightly showering dial-down dope detergent cutie bean, cropped to fungal big-toe whistle stop urethritis in, yup ewe gassed it, Groin Zorro loop-alight Scoff Aesop, the finest dump for Java Joe to gut his proud verbiage in rocks off, hands up, keep ‘em warehouse seizure rules be justified on beaten senseless pathways of candy pain brawn’s tawny brainpan, filtering spooned aristocrats onto deviled highways. 

Flier Brawn

  

Sez, haim achoovian

hoopunt throum sidease,

phrecklet urh prain carioctical

pneusile hephederosib lonche

redditusimp aliontar,

pronquil addu bolitongual

pubmingle horspe tabber,

whex luphian tiesel heind

fauport tson mergaine,

sidden afely hintisguided

nilem dease pretero laternal

indo enaipep prock timua

sleptiblon arafuel

hepter estranian chruels,

pranded blon mirvulens

suv whead fachaseous hunp

eromian zerion tobriliad,

hemshut kilean tonquerel

opiral bior kolian veino

(herencie whan sappes flier brawn).

 Oomph of Oompah

“How can drainpipe overfill emerge immersed in frontal ships of sisterly systemic  biplane feudal swaddling, pocked to pool hall shanks of bunko blips on radar’s strange striated pelican fees?” is all almighty Lola can menage to trout this lovely afternoon, shafting sewn smudge spiked cacophony.

“Blot nad, lugubrious lemur,” Kabuki clips from swells beyond a blonde sigh swig of bubbled lotion toxic alley Haitian, mixed within anisotropic stereo of sordid public sorting gals, corrugated fencing argyle shocks, and pleated parricide, told desperately to fowl in featurette resemblance caricatures of topical mutation.

“Swoon, baby, spooneristic oomph of oompah slump!” Lola blasts his frigate straight south to 1812, cannonade served pipsqueak gutshot hound treading fly swatter reprobate emasculation hogs.

Hit’s true, heft scintillating tinkle his, heaven inch desired wild whirled hen switch weave hind hour shelves. Wad’s strewn is drowned in dime-shore pasty populace gyration dunce, skunked by sextant horde in airy heirloom’s Nubian defiant dodge to dubious inebriation bilge, gonged flowering sin sterling tepid mocha lamb along.

Kabuki peaks in tabbed store recompense, sweetly popping dueling koi in bite mark scythe-line cameo entrails her noggin, torn towards emporia of sanded bandsaw buckwheat blockhouse.