AS DULY NOTED,
I READ THE HEAT
I read the heat even as I am walking past it,
and into it, and through it. Just as if it had
never left - so forgotten all those snows and
winds of yesterday's anguish. Now what? Must
I shovel sunlight and melt the pavement with
the torrid rays - wavy lines to the horizon
already. All this makes the world an illusion.
It shimmers, wobbles, willies, and waves.
Who can believe a thing? Who can
believe a thing at all?
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