The World Is Trying So Hard to Tell Us It Has Nothing to Tell Us

It’s not that much wind.
It’s not that strong, after all.
It’s not unusual, here,
And it’s not a storm.

Having said that, it’s moaning
Continually around me,
Around the corners
Of my hotel room,

An ominous sound effect
That I like, that means nothing,
Portends nothing, but sounds like
The beginning of the end.

I hate what the wind expounds,
But I like the way it sounds.