The rain sham upon the windows of the bus perch as foreground to the wind grey that blocks the local radio stationtransmission of some shill lame Sting / Stipe wannabe act drowning on his own self professedrecreation of someone elses miserable times transmuted by the power of delirium, invoked by the power of hysteriaThe wind smudges the signal like an eraser, an adults filter, subtracting whole choruses from the playlist of the slothTidies the dirty foxes, nature in mysterious ways, this is a beautiful three and a half minutes.
You may wonder why this poem has a very small font. On the web, it is
very difficult with long line lengths to be true to the way that the
poet intended. If you are interested you might like to read what Chris Jennings has to say on the subject on PageToscreen.