Silence and cloudy corn fields
dragging thoughts and ways of life
up the stairs, and who cares?
find out who the real ones are,
who the real ones are.

The ones that cry beer in the night,
whip up emotional whirlwinds
in the grainy desert under
cornered countrymen,
and well off grandsons.

The ones that shrug, ride the bus all day,
eat hearty meals with harsh breathing,
joke about sexism, racism, and religion
all in one instance.

The ones who show courage in the face of *******,
read the writing on sidewalks, bathroom stalls,
lipstick mirrors, between the lines
and make a big deal about it.

The ones who take pictures of the prettiest of sights,
and feed the over growing industry,
of hard feelings,
and ******* parents.

The ones that you can see the land with,
climb on the rocks,
breath heavy on the trees,
watch pebbles tumble down the hill,
and take picture, sweet soothing pictures.

The ***** is long and long and longer than all things long
we’re all dragging our thoughts up the spiral stairs
winding, swift, and lift
concentrate now,
you might miss all that makes those stairs
all that makes those stairs:



The continuous clanking nagging
gnawing of bone two-by-fours,
every step a painful pushing process

Projected eco-systems on every level