Lipstick Swap
Wayward pouters puzzle over dross
in ghastly quadrant highland tabernacles,
owning spiked gypsy doodles in
pterodactyl Steadicam rice balloons,
flipped to ashen primate shoulder tongs
by the wisest statuary, groaning over
seasonal poofs of shallots in threadbare
missionary imminence.
Guests arrange an ouch forever, elating
queasy fall resection tortoise inklings
before structured luminaries stumble up
to lamprey cartwheel orgy penitentiaries,
feeling for solitary guardians in cardigan gales.
Keisters christen original urchins
with marching inguinal dumplings, bleeping
into pried Scotch routines for groupies
on sonic mantissa craze defense puree,
quacking sourly at historic umbilical flotation
in tasty spume coordinates.
Martinis squelch tribunal undulation, ululating
amusingly guileless topographic requiems
for architectonic vintner pants in sprockets
of a Sten’s ball-peen pulchritude, plus or minus
the espadrille of tree house frills.
Wending flimflam from periodic insect saturation,
hobnobbing with exclusionary torpor, educational
cash chasms cash in cached casuistry
for facial effacement’s surface furnace,
bleeding Troy’s parasitic Parisian
duck clock marquis in folded vowels,
canned innocents, and gustatory truss
marks of this embattled lipstick swap.
Time-Trap Sighs
From far below the babble of marginal baubles,
huffed and proffered with taut stretched hounds,
comes the barking of aliquots and sedimentary crayons,
simmering over doughnut stoops in sold-down Paltrymore,
spurning typhoons merrily in jocose rotational caresses
of sweet concrescent swoons.
Crescendos captivate clipped gaggles
of fairly told and furious tattlers,
trying on robotic wigs in tomfoolery’s
penultimate surmise, coughed to
splintered locomotive tiffs by
squalid highbrow suitors of an
adoration’s annual survival pit.
Hokum lifts the arse of whaling nuns
to ergonomic palm retriever soil,
coiled in recompense for sweatshirt sundaes
and mollified Hockedover Moonies,
flexing quintessential scepters
in doggone lassitude’s flimsy
technical eyewash caboose.
LL-57 brings up the derriere,
flashing goulash facial jammies
within apostasy’s tallied pies.
Sweetness pours down lace enigmas,
supplementing time-trap sighs with cluttered crows,
asleep in toweled-off trampoline entrancement bolts
of shoelace grocer crabbiness.
She culls the catwalk for sunshine glossies
in daily chutney waybill wander,
stipulating household hyenas at dawn
for nestling newsboy underthing replacement,
termed numismatic by avuncular dropsy clothiers.
How could a hobo countenance
the prude dismissal of stealthy air seditionists
from shallow conning tower knolls,
sneered adroitly at juvenile sailors
in row house deviled nylons?
Lorry Chimps
Wind climbs to cooing dove repeater tears,
falling on fettered ears in pools
of lachrymose pterodactyl sutures,
bending distant rooftop catamarans
with hoarse lineament shallows,
punching time-retardant fate to diamond grist
in followed waypoint indignation.
Muttered cowlicks warily refute a scolded trench
with paradoxically wooden shipments of tire
irony and tiptoed laboratory dog columns,
fishing tousled curvature from pineal meanings,
flourished in bobbled topographic cufflinks
before a wrestler’s suburban sightings
line up for caryatids of pentagonal unrest.
Armed weariness snakes to thorough armchair tails
of Automonkey Umpire sheaves and fibrous pundits,
mopped to annular pistachio headboard turrets,
firing bullfrog missives at swiped illegal egret scuffs
in premature giraffe collation handlers.
Spoilsports spout,
offending marsupial karma
with Hofbrau Mauser misfires,
clenching kaleidoscopic fairy stools
and amulets of umbral preset inquisitions,
plucked from sighing octets of pewter thimbles,
fueling dental winter dusk with keg line ballast palliatives,
raked to spine powder.
Lugging floral mussels to lorry chimp wiggling festivals,
spooned rock stars spar with parietal espousers
of the weirdest formulaic horse meat mown
to naturalized menaces of flannel girth,
crossing overt marionette neurotics
with industrial crustacean galoots,
leaving hockey scars in triumphal
scintillations of encountered lisp eclairs.
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/spotlight/whiteskybooks. His experimental lit-rap video is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.
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