Fusillades of rain roiling like airstrikes
Buzzed all night, just in earshot, like jarred flies;
Not caring if it ticks your likes or dislikes,
This season’s eking out the summer’s lies;
Cheap sunshine pimps dead leaves with an upgrade,
Old sentiment is spun from sniffed decay,
What’s left of Nature’s scuffed up like old leather
As night beats back the tired, depressive day,
Moves up the cordons, tightens the blockade,
Bolts doors and then breathes “Join the masquerade!
Let’s make believe it’s such poetic weather!”