A Strong Accent and a Southerly Wind

Consider the tide’s complexion;
all satellites are yardsticks
of a primordial inflection,
what Jaws was to the skinnydip.
The birds are at each other,
yelling a strident canvas
for the palette of weather,
like news of Heraclitus;
a crooked tie at a political
symposium; a perplexed
and acned hooligan critical
of his extraneous context
on Songs of Praise; a heretical
Geordie with his chest flexed.