The Return From Exile

Written by: iolanda Scripca

Fog rusts railways seemingly parallel to nowhere...
Phantoms sit down on the cold metal trying to warm up
The moon smokes bats with stars as echo location
A janitor cleans up the daily memories of men with shoes
Taxi drivers fall asleep in line waiting for  customers who never come
                                        *
I fly up high but nobody seems to care I am coming home
The walnut tree recognizes me and smiles with lips of rings
I am coming back to childhood as I was ruthlessly exiled
I feel my shoulder blades happy with buds of wings of cotton candy
There is nobody in the Control Tower 
I just realized...
                      ...I lost my shadow twenty six years ago...
                                       
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