From these walls
A strong wind blows,
Heralding something that draws near;
It is freighted with a world of solidity.
These living rooms are flimsy things,
A-clatter with this and that,
Fluttering with indecision
Unlike their past selves,
Which are indivisible quanta of spacetime.
Today has naught but meat
To occupy it, and us,
Rippling in tomorrow's wind
Like the breath of a subway train,
Barreling towards our station.
end
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