Six Feet Tall, Without Kevlar

I could write about Ambrose Pierce and you can be his weather. He lived with most great men and women. Forecasts of me dear woman, I am pleasant. Between Abraham Lincoln and Mark Twain, Samuel Clement. Lika a rusty Valentine six months latter. A fire you lite in me check my spelling. The spirit of the after life in the present. High pressure bridge down from Bermuda. Ideal for hurricanes to brush up against us on the west coast of Florida's. Living, loving the window the face of the other. I can't replace it the other side of the window, with my own. Still you don't shy from trouble as most do. Poe like him I was. Like you I still am minus the trouble. Your heat wave just broke out there where you're at. I boil water in old glass jars and pour coffee grounds inside then stir it. I smile getting a head of myself. Bukowski enjoyed strong coffee and without it. We wouldn't have that unique way of staying away from all those clear windows. It will rain today Ambrose Pierce, I tell you. Was there a Clearwater Florida, to forecast back to?