We start with a piece of sand
A boy alone in an empty theater
Floating through the air
Like the head of Ichabod.
Then We bring hundreds more
Warriors at the gates of dust
Bricklayers staring at a clay wall
Directions written on cracked earthgrids.
We decide to invite thousands
An urban sprawl of alkaline
A square block in a New York desert
A stadium of pulsing dirt hooligans.
And suddenly we’re in the millions
A crowded briefcase of greenbacks
A clamoring of dots on Earth’s monitor
A warring tribe invading the peaceful air
Our Dust.
Our Playa.
Coming soon.
Whiting out a desert near You.
by Supa Star Smurf
