Perfect Flowers


Look at how Ohio repeats itself: accordions, sandwiches             nothing against something


nests. One Appalachian Highway runs parallel with


                                          another until it doesn’t.              Pawpaw trees are easy to spot in Autumn

because of their yellow leaves             that rust against a grey sky. If you do not like the


weather in Ohio they say               wait fifteen minutes and it will change

                                                                       they do not say you will probably not like then, either.


In a spring that I am doomed to relive, I fold my body against a woman             I love in some way

that I believe to be whole and fair.          Fair as in: she doesn’t know what to do with


my body            it would never occur to her to taste such strange flowers              but she likes to look


      says I can touch her understory        this is what my understory looks like:    a straight woman will

give you her weather, and you will hold it in your hands          because it fits there.


The pawpaw tree needs no partner to reproduce            drops it seeds into the darkness that blankets


           the understory:    I learn this lesson a thousand times                    it is always worth revisiting


I ask the pawpaw tree if they feel single                 and they say No           The pawpaw tree has perfect

flowers: as in                   possessing both female and male           we call that perfect


                  I am like a boy or as one             when my body shakes from the inside out by her hand.


If the West Virginia banana falls from its tree      through some strange ceiling to the bottom-land

and I am not there to hear it              who will sing her song

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