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The midwest pollinates death
The midwest pollinates death,
Dusting our black suits with cards and flowers.
Ten thousand lakes waterlog memories
Unmumbled to our sky-tinted twins in wool scarves.
Our half-accomplished diaspora clumps us like leftover pierogies,
Too far south for big-shouldered winters no one remembers.
A senior-discount orphan perfects the ancient ratio of peanut butter to jelly.
Flying to wendyless neverlands of trendy bachelor pads,
His windy city empty.
