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(A new and rather disturbing venture- a wee “poetry video,” oh dear…)

This is not the City
I hear no violin’s
Cry of empathy
Wafting up to
My lofty pane

This is a brushed
Little town
An ait between
Languid lagoon
And sun-washed sea

And somehow
A kind of

As dog-days
Tame the waves
And my only Love
Becomes the
Monsoon Rains

That sweep
And brood
And pound
Into the deep blue
Of hissing Afternoon
And make
Lustrous Grey
This summery