Poem about how hot it is #3

It’s finally got hot and muggy again, so it doesn’t feel weird to be writing about the heat. Conflicted hurray!

I haven’t been reading any poetry recently, alas, so no recommendations or opinions. Only prose. So much prose.

When I was writing down the germ of the idea for this poem, I texted Spuggy to ask if he thought it was too pretentious. He said he liked it, but he did also quote this song* at me, so the jury is still out on that one. YOU DECIDE.

I think I might play with this one a lot more, but I also think it’s an easy thing to make too clever-clever. Honestly, sometimes I like it and sometimes I think it’s quite juvenile, but I’m going to post it anyway because I should probably get used to this kind of thing.


We all sweat in different dialects
of the same wet Braille.
The grammar varies,
and the word order:

some start in glittering cheetah tracks by the nose
others in dark vowels in the small of the back
or pearls of wisdom that leak from the hairline

Whether we start from the subject or begin with the verb,
whether we were sweating in imperfect tense
or would in future,

by the end
we have all said
the same thing.


*I don’t think I’m supposed to reveal to you where I stole my image from but oh well

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