Infinite raindrops
Infinite dusty windshields
Will this ever produce
A forged Seurat?
No one asks
Just monkeys
Typewriters
Shakespeare

Rain not in dust
But pollen from this months trees
Can’t see through it
Can’t see under it
Dotted with rain
Borrowed from an oasis
Now the wind can’t blow it free

I have a button
And the pointless pointillism
Vanished, unrecorded, unlamented
Modernism removes the annoyances
But leaves remnants
Where I can notice, but
Not where I can see

What does it matter?
I admit, I’m uncertain
But I noticed
I recorded
And maybe now, you
Will think of dust, rain
And Shakespeare