Talking to the wind.

A blustery day is

A delicate feeling

When growling men

Bloom in sermons;

Boom the silent cave.

Stodge'll weigh, exhaling

Sticky warmth, flinging

Teardrops of boredom

Til graceful skies are

Littered with our coarse

Little darknesses, 

Skittered through and

Fallen like fairy corpses.