Hell’s Humidity


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“Is the glass half-full or empty?”  I ask her as I fill it.

She said,

“It doesn’t really matter…Pretty sound your bound to fill it.”

…..I had been dampened, such as, a cotton towel left in a June rain.  Still, unsanctioned…and moist.  Waiting among the firing flies…

I had no airs to put off…

No need for complaint.

However, in this wet climate…I am not a saint.

I have heard a hundred degrees over the limits…

I have heeded the warnings.

On the road to weather’s hell…to infinity and back…

As my cup began to teeter with drink

All she could muster, again and again…

had been…humid 1

“Be careful…You’ll be bound to spill it.”

 

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