The Return From Exile
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...
www.scripca.com
Copyright © Iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2011
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