197

I shudder from my sheer incompetence,

sheer like a summer day's curtain glowing
despite the darkness of the cold living
room from which all my histories commence:
The weather's on the channel, big red L
that marks the spot, shading like a specter
across the crusty-old tropic tether
tracing the torrid with a see-through shell:
The big red L sails right to my cooled home,
and the tristful heavens implode on me!
The vengeful tropics explode from TV!
I break-dance for rain wherever I roam:
I put out the pot to catch the drippings-
such stagnant odors of stucco strippings!
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