Monday Night - Rain Bourbon

Window rattle: replaced with whistling under the door issuing from 3 echoes running the sides of the flat, out from tonight's lightening show, hurled across from an orchestral dusk that Webern would have struggled articulating - but Faulkner would have nailed it: a bourbon of cloud harassing a sun too round and sinking to care; a bourbon of cloud unwanted by a sky above, so it rained below itself tossing parrots and hurling crows; a bourbon of cloud drunk on the stench of rain from a summer blacktop, tinge pink under a greying lambast.