John Pursch- A Poem

A Lobot's Thirst For Love

Three days later,

she still had not solved

the greatest mystery know to man

or beast or androidal life form,

on this or any other planet, planetoid,

has-been asteroidal compartmentalized carburetion clot,

or flexibly denoted popping cork entrainment vessel.

Nuns knew less than her

about crossing patterns,

crusted flakes of frosted

klaxon motivational tweakage,

and biplane tendon flagman manuals,

edited or not by wretchedly textual whitening agents,

tipping sandbox concierge goblets

to lick the final frumpy swath

of limpid factory youth

from transport bulkhead ballast bunks

of binomial barricades in bollocks

of a beatified swinger's setting son-in-slaw.

Coldly manufactured playground sty impingement

scuffs toenail glitter into vocal outrage,

currying to scary ontological potions

to rival any spun docks

of paste sport dancing drones

in tuned oracular omniverse communication frost,

swiped every other millisecond by frozen achievers

in unmet urges of an ogling diplomatic poacher.

Sometimes the past

had represented sated monopoles

with crowning lotion feedbag scoops

of carefully coated skirts in schoolyard stress point

fanning smacks and loose contraction friction,

gleaning sweetly quelled songstress tears

from subtly wined and actualities induced

to snowblind expurgation of posse parts,

torn lazily to splashing hordes on planar squeals

of causal aphasia's messy berm.

Galleys echo steeply lit

caulk penetration towels,

snapping bullfrog tent flap cortisol

to brawny maze semantics

of a salivating burial pet,

frothing fuel and towline notary

incubation wheels of central iffy goofball cork,

filed dangerously close to raw dyslexic eels

in hokey oral mushroom clods

near dualism's knifing divination.

Even so,

we could resist hebephrenic lamentations

of eternal earthquake rust long enough

to smash remainder mirror proving grunge

with shallow par syringe plaque decadence

on pithy hortatory radiation crunch

from falling feelings of a lobot's thirst for love.

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. 
Check out his experimental lit-rap video at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.