Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Two Poems by John Pursch

Attic Steak

Itchy bonbons steer the few tiled embers of a rounded heel, sorting torn fealty and tendons of silt. Electronic simians float atop bipedal code, recurring in daylight screams of fissile ponds and soaring endorphin steam, plastered on baked masks. Fractal droplets steer the sky to soaking lands of hourly peeks at churning ham and ankles, hocked in mock effusion. Shaped charcoal mops stir a locust well, immersing schoolboy taunts in honey, lifting whirled warrens to hired clothes. Pen pals practice pinning trestle rain to tournament steers, simpering to starboard, cavalier and ignoble. Trained to flip a boxy chartered caliper, figurines mesmerize encrusted gulls, mousing a stentorian peg to varsity stove dispersion. Minted by the Cleveland administration, today’s patties pair backpack choirs with outer queries, contracting post-whir nervosa, tagging herbal canaries. Seaside poise engulfs a fleck of etched heuristics, quashing procedural tantrums when idiosyncratic piers apply for hooves. Parried go-karts hatch impassioned solar touts, resting on statistical glows, clearing radium cereal. Sugars emerge from mynahs, porked and stoppered, hitting insulation pores with mounting equine tundra. Ineluctable masks place addled sleepers in third-tier getaway schemes, acting out for understudies of a marginal glute. Hectares slip through eel replays, stitching bombers to currency drams, chiding a deckhand’s spousal toucan trainer for nautical persimmon takes. Rays of guilt peer below socket sand, glimpsing heated oils, sneezed by wise erotic wafters of an imminent plaid ruble. Motto makers walk the crock but cower before trusty naivete, pitching until ham lopers free the liberal gurney from encased comics. How soothing, the real, effective semblance of warm expressive wrists can be, scrambling logs beyond the frozen punji cliques. Only scarlet employs a more envious ape mask, doughty and crumpled in cornerstone news, regarding smudged adjudication with sneering high-top gourds. Of course the striated enemy can’t waddle; that’d break brachistochrones in national wedding toll streams, foiling an augury before manacles were demented. Cilia mooch a yelling docket, breeching misty corduroys, slashing focal ointment. Halls of chesty terminals inch backward, painting aisles intact, glamorizing framed invertebrates on shadier notes. Cordoned often, destined for seminal greening, life assistants cadge a sorely dreamt bouncer, leafing under tailors, stacking oxen for waybill burgers. Chaff sides with fliers, fragging the lead xylophonist, obeying counters, mending canned stoics with attic steak.

Moth Giggles

Defalcation grazed the catapult, ushering dawdlers into tritium seams, where sunlight pines for canny berms. Leeward saddles right the coiling chap, mince a chef’s true facemask, and cobble forth in circles, broaching a spherical boot. Skillets bubble ginseng steam, draining coughs from caverns, branding taped doormen with supersonic wilting pools. Aft omissions curl the governor’s palace; perisytles collapse, deputizing cardinals, canning limpers for dawn. Conjuring tracks from vertical ears, moguls measure ascetic slots, lap up crown whorls, and map infusion tucks to cyclic oats. Alluvial belief repels a fragrance with auxiliaries, favoring translucent hermits. The more a fly tries fate’s liberating haze, the heavier its solitary stammering will be. Even so, a fountain taps imagined ease, willing windfalls on unexpected aisles. Points of ordinary speed veer through monthly grays, startling reflected trees. Apples trot in candle fiords, pleasing a porcelain truth. Smoldering in parallel, au pair weekends whistle past elastic locks, investing torn murals with colloidal urchins. Eager wheelies crawl in pickled flan, pitting glaze against horses. Actuaries jostle ogres, sifting orbits for elemental stew, only to founder on motorboat fluff. Frazzled zealots fritter aweigh, catcalling feline augers, seeping into paranormal shade. Adders torch gullies of tidal couth, releasing moth giggles, curdling sand and seawall gloom. Skin cologne wraps tangled crypts in geyser hounds, mixing tonic smoke, stocking ropes for tulip rosters. Checking the keg permanence, braying striders whisk away a tree, trying on an iron gasket. Scythes risk amethyst on wild caloric stains, pair off to blackened flak, and search for solid lips, basking in a Tartar’s irrigated seal.

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has appeared in The Camel Saloon, Counterexample Poetics, experiential-experimental-literature, and elsewhere. His fiction piece “Watchingstoned, T.V.” was recently nominated for the Sundress Best of the Net 2012 Anthology. His first book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at . You can follow him on twitter at or on facebook at .

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