A piquant whistle
Has shattered the panes.
The window, perpetually open
Confides secrets of the world
Indiscriminately now.
What bricks and stones
Could not, did the whistle.

Poor frames, stultified
Hang motionless.
No more easy rejoicings
Of shut-in content.

A captive without bars, now
Invade hot tongues of secrets,
Hot, over-ripe sauce:
Scarlet, green and yellow;
Poor fellow without panes
Scare-crowed.

Hollering demi-abstracts
Shuffle down the streets.
Logos garb crabbed
Physiognomies.
Clamorous claims of
Badges, stamps, certificates
Of earned achievements
Invade slumbering calm within.

Diminishing returns -