above my right eye
is contained the humidity
of one southeastern nation.
it would like to sometimes
storm over in a monsoon or two
but it desires parity
with its counterpart
across the vertical equator
left eye doesn't give in.
it stalwartly sets its sight
dryly
on the next conquest at hand.
"let them sweat in misery,"
quips the p.m.
unfortunately, misery
and weather,
major exports of malaise-ia,
have a way of spreading
across the rot-orange ball
of the world.
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