Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Gissa smile Sun, giss yr best
good mawnin’ one, fresh ‘n cool like

yore still comin’ — still
half in an’ half outa the lan’scape?

An’ wen yore clear of that eastern rim
of hills an’ tha whole length of tha

valley begins to flood wit yr light, well
that’s wen I could just reach out ‘n stroke

tha pitted pock-marked pores of yr shiny
skin an’ peel ya — just like a orange, right

down to yr white under-skin, but I wouldn’t
bite ya — well, not until the lunch-bell goes

at noon wen I can feel ya hot an’ outa reach
an’ balanced right there—above my head.

C’mon, gissa smile Sun.