til the real winds scream up enough to knock you down

shred the evidence of a once demeaning existence

with one maybe two pride packed pockets for the family,

not a prison but the sum of our ambitions

til dreary meets muddy, meets cold bellowed angst

curried by a jury of your peers,

jury of that which stares the deepest inward

at your soul, your strength, and all your greatest fears

the high and mighty sense of prosperity

senses your fear of heights.

call loud ye who wish to survive

the death that is colored green eyes sexy

thirsty for the descent of you and every broken back alive.