Logging This Incus, This Hell Mouth, Back Home Full Stop

Cars swished past like hovercraft. The rain came down in stair rods on the single other vertical abroad. Logging, that typewriter back home. So we've got him in the rain again. I don't want to talk about this as if i want to get out of the way,. cause i think this is a brilliant poem by a brilliant poet. Ok, next bit.