I recorded another Tess Kincaid poem. It’s hard to get hold of this elusive poet. Now you see and hear why she is my Blog of the Century.

My barometer
hovers in space
between hot and hotter

I rummage for tepid words
the dictionary people
are not pleased

to find me
looking aimlessly
at pictures of exotic places

with naked snake charmers
daydreaming kisses
like soft sweet leeches

I stare and cross my legs
become a holy man
too hot for anything

except swearing