Damn who?

It is the time when language has no precedent. Perhaps? The idea persists whereby something is smashed and we encircled it, we dare not touch it, but we do want to. It is within us all to wish that deep within the motocross wreckage their exists a rider with letters, and a non-reflectant visor,who at least takes the pressure of the incumbents. It is not a good sign when all around are ticking boxes and all around are gathered round and the idea of the poem gets eaten. " Dear Publisher" please feel free to pull your cheque book out after readung my heart wrenched musing. The glass fronted new churchco building slants away and sponsors me as I write. Who?