the sky – such as it is – a claustrophobic ceiling, clinging to the tops of tall bridges and buildings.
Nor will you find those Blues in the rain-swollen bodies of water —
bodies of water, murky in the absence of penetrating rays and churned with flood detritus.
Walls and billboards, painted blue, will be inflected [perhaps, infected] with gray — the gray that permeates all.
Don’t look for the Monsoon Blues, they’ll find you.