Stenographers, exult! The wind blows cold.
Forty degrees somewhere north of here.
Summer pollutes the mind, winter makes clean.
Inspirational rhymes next to the box scores.
Dire vocals of the mirthless folk singer.
When gluttons try to fast, the will flinches.
Paradise and solitude, the red den.
Space for the harbingers of hope, selah.
A precious metaphysical conceit!
Excelling chant of monks, my true love's voice.
Minute particulars, news of the day.
Who is this bozo on the pitcher's mound?
Fragments of brilliance, lost in lassitude.
An urban prelude, regal demoiselle.