(Insert Idiot Pun Here)

There’s a white wine waiting on the kitchen bench
collecting humid condensation
and attracting wandering nomadic beetles,
there’s a moment I was trying to grasp again
and instead I squeezed tightly and crushed it
to an awkward mess, there’s very little left
to remind anyone of the life time of nonsense I lead,
inhabiting an old memory, complete in my futility
conceited and concealed
silence is silver in this garden of gold.

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