Metaphorical Periscope/ Comanche Pacifier

Metaphorical Periscope

Supercilious shenanigans
apropos claws of
grandfathered clause,

Satan Klaus finding
facets in the flaws
in the pause of pulse,

layered with
hair-trigger
espíritu ravaging
sleighed slayer
of meritorious
provident preachings,

onyx riddled bugaboo
of arrant teachings
snagged in a under blasé
emanation of extraordinário.

Micro sleep portent of
opacity wraith presentiments
inner pollution recycled
contusions,

mandated threads of
pre-infancy scutwork
juggernaut spark
partitioned from
a rogue quark,

arsenic torque
sipped from a
fervid vial,

blow ripple necrosis
whimpers indefatigably
into wavelength blinks
of a ecumenical
whisper,

swallow this thrill into
your rigor-mortis rod
I spill semenal serpents
another street sweeper
merchant,

a juicy vig of plutonium ice
in the brick city another
comatose phantom
drooling on a
dope fiends titty.

Copyright ©2017 and 2018
Whisperingquill.All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted
in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without the prior written permission
of the publisher.

------------------------------------------------------

Comanche Pacifier

Bleed saccharine fleas
blow the meat flute
on your elbows so your
knees may appease
and stand inverted at ease,

slob the rim hob-knob
the job snorting rails
off of numbed lips
curtains hide pillow pants,

while Lester Fiend scratches
hairy tongues with a fire dipped
Sodium Pentothal ice-pick
loose cleft labia's split and spit,

stealthy screams
and cerise streams
cascade as lava willows
270 sorrows over Lockerbie
funded by a tyrant named Gaddafi,

beat in the streets,

pummeled from stymie fisted
vindictive Valkyrie vultures
strabilious miscreants,

yawping of a uprise
fed full since a downed plight
kissing a frozen horizon
teardrop birth aftershock,

immense girth my yogurt slinger
causes much hurt Linda Lovelace
chokes on a swollen trunk
cluster-fucked and stuck
from a thermo-nuclear
ghost shot thunder punch,

lockjaw sipping her lunch
through a crazy-straw my fault y'all.

Copyright ©2017 and 2018
Whisperingquill.All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted
in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without the prior written permission
of the publisher.