Highball Innuendo

by John Pursch

Cerebellar misadventures of the windshield shot
graze lead-lined pillbox hatteries of chilly ragged coat lines,
dangling in the breezy contender’s waistcoat pocket,
foiled by rubber ink extravagance and
mutually eschatological neckline plunges,
drenching mossy torpedo bellies in
floozy underwear rewetting blots
of cobweb dancer pinafores glazed patiently
with greenery and grainy droppings
from a salutatory duckling’s pejorative
incantation of runaway tarmac blues.

No one could stand, let alone sit still for,
handy moral outrigger netting of the kind
so biliously cobbled from worn mosquito handiwork,
so expertly spurted by schlong-lust mustard seeds
in scenery disputes with top-dog hopscotch periphery’s
nunnery exposition welts, promised dryly in vague
retreat cordons to plumage spurners nationwide
in cackling car door commissary kumquat squatter rites,
deep within Groin Zorro’s missing tantrum of jacked
ten-wheeler recompense and tartan misconception’s
ill-defined crowned taro punch line, flicking August
into rigged mulatto terminals of situated empties.

Time danced round apostrophes
in pearly canned sedation, flirting mirthlessly
with two-armed shifty-bottomed botulism vendors,
hoping for a Frisbee tourniquet detachment tray,
traipsing with intestines dangling over catwalk silence impresarios,
meowing under waterfall suffusion’s highball innuendo.