The house is open. A storm approaches.  Hushed voices, a wall hoisted and nailed in place  by the hammering of ironic minds.  The lights change, purple-blue then fade,  whereas lights everywhere else are on or off,  this light scoffs, and jeers with bright golden cheers  and burgundy spheres and dark fabric frames into prison  for escaping prism. Blackout. Solitary. Spotlit commentary.  Fog spills from the wings. So dark it stings. So rich it stinks.  Brought to the brink to