Logan Fry

Three Inches Punched in Earth

Leapt, a heaven leaping

Heaved, lead put it loud and lowly,

Wholed apex of a pinch

The soiled clothes a body planted.

A plan burnt the up in loamy frequenting.

Landfilled

Wetnights.

Plus of a life; snit must, ably

Bittered. Emblem a cathexis

Aware when the eyes roll loose over wool,

Come to a pause

On specific fiber.

I halve the taken language’s token.

Who is a spurning

Masterwork guts cut spit of inured

Tenure nicknames.

Windbent stem

A weave admits.

The tucking mechanism has a tolerance of

Giving of name in bulb’s sagging garments.

Free hands have been sent under the ripest

To heave with a wait until steadied to wait.

Logan Fry is the author of Harpo Before the Opus (Omnidawn, 2019), and of poetry in Conjunctions, Image, Lana Turner, Fence, Prelude, Annulet, Shitwonder, and The New York Review of Books.