Storm on the horizon

I shudder to think
What shakes the foundation

Long after

A whirlwind adventure passes

This house sitting empty
Though it’s not its fault
The vault is full
Of empty promises
In the shape of wine bottles
Corked with air

(leftovers from last spring)

I reach out in the cellar for light
Clutching darkness
Empty handed
(A few times)
Before catching hold of the metallic string

This bright idea
Taking hold
at instantaneous speed
The one singular constant
In an otherwise chaotic world

Man has many ideas
not all of them are bright

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