For grain dust is fine and slips through the fingers.
For grain becomes bread that we break in your memory.
For grain is transported by ships and trains and long flat boats.
For grain is stored in buildings that rise up from flat land.
For grain elevators are strangely the poetry of the American sky.
For they are built in various shapes according to landscape and function.
For the buildings are pure in their geometry.
For the circle is unity.
For the triangle is the trinity.
For square and rectangle are pleasing in their shapes.
For the hexagon is the geometry of the bee.
For bees, in their building of honeycombs, gave rise to the schematics of interlocking grain bins.
For hexagonal bin design does not waste space — there is no need for the strangely shaped interstitial bins.
For the longest elevator in the world uses hexagonal bin design — praise the grain elevator in Hutchinson, Kansas.
For elevators are made of many materials.
For we are woken to life by knowing decay.
For wood is decay.
For tile decays.
For steel bins do not insulate the grain.
For vermin get inside the bins and gorge themselves on the fine dust of harvest.
For life is decay.
For the abandoned silos are in decay.
For there is dust in our lungs.
For all creatures will come to dust.
For it is true — and I have seen it — that grain dust explodes.
For spontaneous combustion is proof of a Presence — Remember the thirty-three men who died at the Husted Mill in 1913.
For dust clings to elevators, even those converted to hotels and artists' lofts.
For firstly, the grain is moved upward in the elevator by small buckets on conveyor belts.
For secondly, the grain is moved to the distributing floor, where it is weighed and chalkboards mark the weight and grade and destination.
For thirdly, the grain is moved along conveyor belts and lowered into the bins through small holes that the men try not to fall through.
For fourthly, the grain is stored for months or years or else it is moved quickly through chutes onto boats or railcars waiting below.
For the storage and transport of grain is a wholesome enterprise.
For it is pleasing to feel the slip of grain between the fingers and hear it crunch underneath boots on the cement workfloor — Be gracious to the elevator in Burden, Kansas.
For each handful of grain comes from a field of growing things — Be gracious to the cribbed wooden elevator in Attica, Kansas.
For fields from above are geometrically pleasing — Save the condemned silos of Minnesota.
For there is Presence in the swish and movement of grain particles colliding in the chutes.
For the storing of grain in large bins is the desire for tomorrow — Bless the peeling letters of C and T and A on the silo in Lake City, South Dakota.
For the Dakotas are desolate and need their landmarks.
For those states have been spared with silos spaced evenly along the railroad, every fifteen miles.
For people in Kansas are more needy — Bless the four-mile intervals.
For there is something to be said for the even spacing of certain kinds of structures.
For it is important to love the spaces in between — Remember the insterstitial bins with shapes that accommodate.
For flat-bottomed bins are useless for unloading but have pleasing shapes.
For flat land must have shapes that rise up in praise. Bless Aldo Rossi.
For silos desire upward motion.
For the workfloor is the ground level — Praise the wood elevator of Chokio, Minnesota.
For the storage bins are the body of the building — Give us this day our daily bread.
For the distributing floor has many windows but workers keep their eyes on the floor to avoid falling through — Praise the buckling slats of the elevator in Lucas, Kansas.
For the headhouse sits on top of the building — Bless the small dusty windows of elevator headhouses.
For any structure so solid is a monument to the everlasting — A blessing on Danville, Kansas where the 18-bin silo dwarfs the church (bless its steeple and the lonely slatted window).
For structures this large have SPIRIT inside them.
For SPIRIT is fullness.
For SPIRIT is round in its shape.
For round structures have no end and converge with the sky in an understanding of infinity.
For it is most common for grain bins to be round.
For common shapes are pleasing to the gods.
For storage is proof of thinking of tomorrow.
For allow me to consider a single spark in Wichita, Kansas.
For every spark does not ignite.
For desire cannot be predicted.
For sparks are in every careless cigarette lit on the workfloor.
For sparks fly from the steel rails of nearby train tracks.
For fire is the particular fear of grain elevator workers.
For fire CONSUMES.
For CONSUME is a word that feeds on itself, desires more than itself.
For the word keeps circling in the mouth when you are done saying it.
For a spark with the desire to CONSUME felled the DeBruce grain elevator four miles southwest of Wichita, Kansas.
For due to management negligence, on June 8th, 1998, a concentrator roller bearing seized from no lubrication and locked the roller into a static position as the conveyor belt continued to roll over it.
For this is called the "razor stop" effect — Imagine machinery at 260 degrees Celsius.
For these are the conditions that join fire with dust.
For seven men died that day for America's bread — Rest the souls of Jose Luis Duarte (41 years), Howard Goin (64 years), Lanny Owen (43 years), Victor Manuel Castaneda (26 years), Raymundo Diaz-Vela (23 years), Jose Prajedes Ortiz (24 years), and Noel Najera (25 years).
For even in its hell-bent desire, the spark could not reach all the bins.
For steel is strength.
For concrete is strength.
For the metal clasps on the lunch boxes are strength.
For the flat land is filled with structures that are still standing.
For when traveling in certain states, one elevator passes from view just as another appears on the horizon.
For elevators carry the eye upward to sky.
For elevators reach.
Used by permission of the author.
For grain becomes bread that we break in your memory.
For grain is transported by ships and trains and long flat boats.
For grain is stored in buildings that rise up from flat land.
For grain elevators are strangely the poetry of the American sky.
For they are built in various shapes according to landscape and function.
For the buildings are pure in their geometry.
For the circle is unity.
For the triangle is the trinity.
For square and rectangle are pleasing in their shapes.
For the hexagon is the geometry of the bee.
For bees, in their building of honeycombs, gave rise to the schematics of interlocking grain bins.
For hexagonal bin design does not waste space — there is no need for the strangely shaped interstitial bins.
For the longest elevator in the world uses hexagonal bin design — praise the grain elevator in Hutchinson, Kansas.
For elevators are made of many materials.
For we are woken to life by knowing decay.
For wood is decay.
For tile decays.
For steel bins do not insulate the grain.
For vermin get inside the bins and gorge themselves on the fine dust of harvest.
For life is decay.
For the abandoned silos are in decay.
For there is dust in our lungs.
For all creatures will come to dust.
For it is true — and I have seen it — that grain dust explodes.
For spontaneous combustion is proof of a Presence — Remember the thirty-three men who died at the Husted Mill in 1913.
For dust clings to elevators, even those converted to hotels and artists' lofts.
For firstly, the grain is moved upward in the elevator by small buckets on conveyor belts.
For secondly, the grain is moved to the distributing floor, where it is weighed and chalkboards mark the weight and grade and destination.
For thirdly, the grain is moved along conveyor belts and lowered into the bins through small holes that the men try not to fall through.
For fourthly, the grain is stored for months or years or else it is moved quickly through chutes onto boats or railcars waiting below.
For the storage and transport of grain is a wholesome enterprise.
For it is pleasing to feel the slip of grain between the fingers and hear it crunch underneath boots on the cement workfloor — Be gracious to the elevator in Burden, Kansas.
For each handful of grain comes from a field of growing things — Be gracious to the cribbed wooden elevator in Attica, Kansas.
For fields from above are geometrically pleasing — Save the condemned silos of Minnesota.
For there is Presence in the swish and movement of grain particles colliding in the chutes.
For the storing of grain in large bins is the desire for tomorrow — Bless the peeling letters of C and T and A on the silo in Lake City, South Dakota.
For the Dakotas are desolate and need their landmarks.
For those states have been spared with silos spaced evenly along the railroad, every fifteen miles.
For people in Kansas are more needy — Bless the four-mile intervals.
For there is something to be said for the even spacing of certain kinds of structures.
For it is important to love the spaces in between — Remember the insterstitial bins with shapes that accommodate.
For flat-bottomed bins are useless for unloading but have pleasing shapes.
For flat land must have shapes that rise up in praise. Bless Aldo Rossi.
For silos desire upward motion.
For the workfloor is the ground level — Praise the wood elevator of Chokio, Minnesota.
For the storage bins are the body of the building — Give us this day our daily bread.
For the distributing floor has many windows but workers keep their eyes on the floor to avoid falling through — Praise the buckling slats of the elevator in Lucas, Kansas.
For the headhouse sits on top of the building — Bless the small dusty windows of elevator headhouses.
For any structure so solid is a monument to the everlasting — A blessing on Danville, Kansas where the 18-bin silo dwarfs the church (bless its steeple and the lonely slatted window).
For structures this large have SPIRIT inside them.
For SPIRIT is fullness.
For SPIRIT is round in its shape.
For round structures have no end and converge with the sky in an understanding of infinity.
For it is most common for grain bins to be round.
For common shapes are pleasing to the gods.
For storage is proof of thinking of tomorrow.
For allow me to consider a single spark in Wichita, Kansas.
For every spark does not ignite.
For desire cannot be predicted.
For sparks are in every careless cigarette lit on the workfloor.
For sparks fly from the steel rails of nearby train tracks.
For fire is the particular fear of grain elevator workers.
For fire CONSUMES.
For CONSUME is a word that feeds on itself, desires more than itself.
For the word keeps circling in the mouth when you are done saying it.
For a spark with the desire to CONSUME felled the DeBruce grain elevator four miles southwest of Wichita, Kansas.
For due to management negligence, on June 8th, 1998, a concentrator roller bearing seized from no lubrication and locked the roller into a static position as the conveyor belt continued to roll over it.
For this is called the "razor stop" effect — Imagine machinery at 260 degrees Celsius.
For these are the conditions that join fire with dust.
For seven men died that day for America's bread — Rest the souls of Jose Luis Duarte (41 years), Howard Goin (64 years), Lanny Owen (43 years), Victor Manuel Castaneda (26 years), Raymundo Diaz-Vela (23 years), Jose Prajedes Ortiz (24 years), and Noel Najera (25 years).
For even in its hell-bent desire, the spark could not reach all the bins.
For steel is strength.
For concrete is strength.
For the metal clasps on the lunch boxes are strength.
For the flat land is filled with structures that are still standing.
For when traveling in certain states, one elevator passes from view just as another appears on the horizon.
For elevators carry the eye upward to sky.
For elevators reach.
Used by permission of the author.