2 POEMS
Logan Fry

WAIF JOUSTING EFFACEMENT

Sally you are a figurative wank totem, piling larvae before toddler auras, stymied bearing
tart astropics, gesture pour noon lake-panders, vale devour, savoir belches, where one’s
favored party warms teat lichens westerly. Loaves of priestly endocrine sliced emit weakly
contests-of-war.

The salience dusks her, whose nipples wander, all’s enticement, bringing
dread from halter-docks, falls truing deckshine, savvy as if water clued-in
ports. A lady carting pots to the salt of the sentry, the cabins move sappily
thru temporary vents, the rooms wild, the rooms wild, howitzer

frankly a coward because the painting of a grandmother that’s hung is damp, the sofa below
it getting moldy. Further then, sickness, if sacks belabor backs that cart them, what is once-
told still burdens, what’s twice maybe more so, maybe.

I wish the jagged absolutes would soften—maybe if presst closer the foundry’s greeny flame? I wand their sword; and wanding, tilt before clear goads unreflective cynic-tooting. Grot wont. Grot wont. Fool of mini-takes, if an ease snuggles into a thought usurp it. If adjective croons again usurp it. The mood! is a tower the ladder is hunting many wildebeest whose dainty toes seep theorems that a harpist immediately keens to. Sat on thinks, items are collapsed about that table.

Goon fluid. Taint of wonder which evection flushes, clutching very skeletal
his wade into plush gallons. Finite boon arrives in universe-shaped stirrups,
the cleverer one’s saddle better to writhe from rider it its lube.

Cliff figures.
Well water in there gets and frosty nite into comes and into crystals tumble and halt and spindle out like light useful fissures. Useful for diasporic tenets, salutes of the mauve walrus testes.
 
 

DO BECOME PLEASURE
 

This sequence has a voice which
            means knots are in
            the yarn that, facéd,
    flays counteracting weight. He lifts
    Gaussian parotic fascination,

sizeable, heaves it whose
functions javelined ham—this fast is
    seizable,
whirl for a season, it’s what it does to savor,
    if’n
    I am
oak-formed. Allow us pastures, form
ing, callus, this t-shirt that’s nubbly already.

        Santa’s slay
        is a walk in New England
past the Arby’s, but it is late autumn.
To fragment does Noah’s work. They? They do it
fresh, daily.