The what

*the what*
Reap a cyclonic convection of unmanaged wind
To batter yourself against a tall fixed brick dividing structure
To cast your troubles upon indifferent saline brine
How metaphors could so simply stumble
If we but allowed blessed verbosity its extremes
Took our cue not from Shakespeare
With his wily dramagurist ways
Instead let our hearts find direction
In the by-laws of local councils
The indictments of the courts
Regulations of maritime safety or the tax department
Then we would find writing worthy of
Middle level management across the land
The type of writing any worker could aspire to
No fear of being outshone by another
Writing beaten within an inch of it doesn't matter
Slapped down to be suckered up
Or as a cure for a particularly vicious case of insomnia
That is what we would find
As Romeo once said
"Hello what is this sudden illumination casting back the shadows of night
when dawn is still someway off".