Queer bodied

Okra is an onamonapia,
a firm, hairy Ooooooh

The Okra, fresh, is crisp
with smooth, milky seeds

The seeds are stacked
Obedient to the order

In which I write a little ditty

while waiting. It's nice and quiet, here. I understand the appeal.

You believe in God, or at least a spirit
I believe in grass, dirt, an unrelenting sun

And when we are dead our ashes will mix
in the rain, become a river to mice and squirrels

and sink into the hungry roots of a chicoree plant

Another nice poem

Appalachian Trail 
by Ted Mathys

I am in the
main on the

mend I am in
Maine on the

wagon on
Katahdin in

an animal
skin I am a

pencilmaker
breaking

a stolen mirror
metaphor over

the peak to
make Maine

lakes glint in
sun I broke

like a main
clause over

the forest of the
page and paused

to drink from a
literal canteen