Paper Mountain

 

I’d tear down a building

With a hammer and teardrop

And move the piles of rubble

To the ocean with a teacup

For the chance to build a paper mountain

Seen from all of Ohio

 

Inside, the worlds gold

Illuminates an eerie glow

So night time is never too dark

For the sullen citizens

Lost in the heart of Ohio

No one knows the source of the glow

 

No one could climb my paper mountain

No one could rub its tender fibers

No one could plant a troubled shrub

No one could pray from the top to a listening God

 

I’d tear down a paper mountain

By chewing it into sticky pulp

And move the piles of waste

By swallowing it all in a single gulp

For the chance to hear a talking God

Scream for all of Ohio

 

That gold is a gift like freedom

And using it ill is a snail

Born fast but never seeing

That the past is a burning stair

Pushing our slimy steps

Forward with or without regrets.

 

 

 

Pasture’s Creek

 

Her friendly eyes glanced toward me

Filling my pale in her pasture’s creek –

As the breath of a million people breathing

 

Forces the grass to sing and sway

From over the hill to over my way,

As I gaze around and wonder:

 

What type of man does it take to persuade

A broken woman to rid of her shame?

Should I sit on down and wait?

 

—

 

Her chalky soul smears like coal

And her eyes become a wicked old bowl

Of glances made for winter.

 

When you know it’s so cold that roses fold,

Their thorns become rubbery gold

Dulled down and afraid to splinter.

 

—

 

Her friendly eyes turned to winter rye,

Protecting all the crops inside

Her body, her blood, and her posture –

 

Glancing at the pastures snow,

The only thing moving is a mother doe

Spooked from a million people gasping.

 

(And) the two became one in their fear to run.

Their fear to run is safe, my son,

because there are millions of people breathing.