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1 " Poem (I Can’t Speak for the Wind)I don’t know about the cold.I am sad without hands.I can’t speak for the windWhich chips away at me.When pulling a potato, I see only the blue haze.When riding an escalator, I expect something orthopedic to happen.Sinking in quicksand, I’m a wild appaloosa.I fly into a rage at the sight of a double-decker bus,I want to eat my way through the Congo,I’m a double agent who tortures himself and still will not speak.I don’t know about the cold,But I know what I like I like tropical madness,I like to shake the coconutsAnd fingerprint the pythons,-fevers which make the children dance.I am sad without hands,I’m very sad without sleeves or pockets.Winter is coming to this city,I can’t speak for the wind which chips away at me. "
― James Tate , Viper Jazz
2 " Trained slugs race across his jelloin eight-cylinder sombreros "