In the act of building.

Like a roaring machine that exhales the most charming sounds.
I indulge in the splendor.
But orange lights flash.
Information has arrived.
When the notice arrives the cement truck spins with glory and pain.
Here we are again.
A call from the Governor, I see.
We are standing with taped mouths and vicious eyes.
Our brains do the talking and it’s not very nice.
Suddenly we encounter why we shut this operation down.
Too much energy.
No money.
Plenty of heedlessness.
And I marvel in its demise.