Logan Fry
It is Better if the Threats are Real

Jazz office

figure a bleak calypso, wonderment entering this hollow tout-allowance,

forests wore the facets that wigs let burst,

saying toasting finest doing, solid writhing seated

pander. The critic eating spaghetti.

There is a fact of it, of all that’s arty,

which is akin to plastic’s thesis avoidance, there being

nearly indiscernible smug investments in frontal pathos,

fouled power forwards, the expressiveness of sweat

in eyebrows being sublime, truly,

the rainbow upon which pragmatic judges rickshaw one’s nowest agenda.

Please ape cartography’s lesson.

The aesthete can’t own books.

The aesthete can’t own books. Rapier symphony, of blisses!

Wither phylums about insurance,

coccyx guessing the woman’s career from this crumbles,

impacted similar to her statutes emboldened; elaborate bleeding; and she

wants to use my phone she cannot use my phone.

Island loving seachanges thru gallop dissent, sentry glaring, the iPhone,

its glaring. Before guards, fallacy loathed purchase,

about talismans warding penises kept sheathed. Actor academy positions

aleatory quandaries holding onto tasteless furniture,

the cadaver our congenital shyness, is it rare to salivate mostly for assholes,

theorem radii getting them in pickles, the firstmost gasp beaming up Gladys

wonky against the dark matter stylus.

Dental business

taking the political too seriously, tooths, you tell them, tooths, and mean it,

british elaboration, goading selves inward, paint around the anus,

a frotteur slipping difference into beverages, barks his hart

finicky guesses the! pumpaction cocks sics,

a sturdy orator’s bluejean presidio, and I in post-mortiary affectations intent

on listening to blank tapes in too sad of a commitment,

in too the bleakest veal phone, thesis borsht. And the almond paste that thickens it.