Maura Way

Kid the Moon

Breathless boggarts appreciate
viewers like you when they
desiccate innocent Wednesdays
with the worst kind of gelatinous
thought. If The Lawrence Welk
Show is still on, why not believe
in a genius loci? I would talk to
the animals, fuck with your sugar
bowl. My cornucopia overflows
with pancordian music. Champagne
ladies get along without me very
well. I'll follow this kelpie, wenwise
and worn, but she wants me pretty bad.

Pteridomania

Fiddlehead unfurled on top
of halibut estranged from
musical secondary school.
A cull of menu genre like my
foraging for fallopian slapstick.
Two lines, one line, straight
man, capped on a flat surface,
a fish-slapping dance for sure.

Delicately divide, fronds, upside
down, I will find the spore this
midsummer. My will o' the wisp
is a lantern under leather. It would
be so easy to get caught up in a
Victorian craze. Froggy went a
courtin' & so did I. I've got your
nose. That's the punchline.