A friend I’ve not seen in a dozen years
Talks to me of her siloed life
Folks where she lives don’t notice near-neighbors
Except when they drive right past

Her silos are forged of streets and highways
Hue of skin and eye
Yet now silos sprout for poets and painters
Bakers, boilermakers, celebrities and pols
All need never leave their silos

To hold in means to keep out
When people see people just through a screen
Silos can rise straight up to the clouds
Corral desire, disgust and dreams
Push away the heart of a world
Anger surges inside silos
Threatens to burst every sealed top

So why have I not spoken so long to my friend
Has the silo of my self
Defended by sheer walls and unconscious fears
Kept out someone who should never have been lost?
If we don’t breach our silos, what is the cost?

Some silos best stay open, others well-closed
Dakota silos stand straight
High cylinders gill-full with barley and corn
Beneath them steel towers, drilled in black earth

There soldier-monks whisper in codes
Concrete doors quick-set to unfold
Touch a few buttons, their weapons load

These missiles can wipe out millions of souls
Which of these silos might you unlock?