Utopia

Words, circle after circle down a straight staircase,

Following footsteps like puddles placed perfectly in synchronization

with nothing in particular.  Passers by laughing at the babbling;

we call it casual conversation.  Avarice eats at the fabric and so we sew,

stitching phrases with idioms, ideas with prisms, the shape all too familiar.

The big ones laugh like little ones, we count their height on the hallway wall,

wondering if maybe the mighty are small or the weak are tall.