Merchant in Drought

Temporarily nervous. Summer’s gone… everything’s gone. Drinking coffee. This morning, I found a torn old half-envelop under my bed with in my handwriting [translated]:

I’m a manufacturer of bell strikes
A merchant in drought
I supply the contours of letters
To the contour-needing powers
Only on credit… it figures

{more}

Do you know those little stripes through the Norwegian Ø?
We make them!

The lustre of gold, and quick(silver)
The shine of beetles, and the itchiness of bugs
I wrote the declaration of independence of protozoans
I’m the vortex direction operative

I don’t know when I wrote it, but it is as true today as it was that night. I must rewrite it one day into something formful… P.S. here’s a picture of my doorbell.