#27

There's a ladder to a stairway
and a stairway to a grave
and you're walking up its steps
with the necklace that I gave you.

Sixty miles from anything
there's a conrete set of stairs
coming staight out of the desert
growing straight out of the earth.

In the shadow of their hunchback
a scorpion is trying to sting
the ankle of a catcus
and let the dry ground drink.

Sleeping in your car,
stuck waiting for a ride,
the sunlight fills the insides
like water like sand like

concrete to freeze you in your place
and take you somewhere else
turn you to a monument
when that stairwell melts.