From These Walls

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.