Mediating the Human Flesh Engine

Approaching the stationary tractor I can see through the back window and windscreen someone walking away from it:
The subaltern, Helen, whose tact is mortified to countervail chagrin in the artist who was turned a tell tale tit
When he made her message public. Amanuensis of the charity she works for, and thus, like me, a conduit,
Helen had declined the offer of a limited edition print for auction, but stated, whilst they could not commit,
That an original would be considered. Helen, I write my poems under the authority of a spirit,
I am dissociated, as you are, and the vigilantes who chasten you echo those people who discomfit
Me. I watch you through the aligned windows of a tractor, heading away, through the heliotrope and hydropic grit;
And I too have been denigrated, Helen, having asked for too much on behalf of a spirit for whom I transmit.