The shirtless man has stars above him
But nothing is soft in the upper storey.
He is not an idiot savant with no shirt.
He is not Kierkegaard’s thinking shirt
Or the existential daily changing shirt,
Just bare-bodied lack on walking roof.
A heat gets us all by midsummer night
And those who go about in lack of shirt
Are our images from a grandiloquence
That exaggerates shadows of our selves
In wind-blown walking superior shirts,
Vaporous entities climate makes of us.