(Did you

miss me?)

Spitting out

barbed wire,

teeth grey

and hands

wild,

cutting

my way

through an

iron forest.

A vagabond

made of

metal;

an aching

weariness

settling

into my belly.

I've never

felt so

still.

Shoes gone,

bag stolen,

I must

keep

moving towards

that special

dream,

a utopia

in a sea of

industrial noise

and smoky skies;

That place

where

the trees glow

gold and rivers

sing

in time with hummingbirds

buzzing.

Where the air is

cool and quiet,

the sky whispering

blue

through my skin.

Home is a

fine place to

be

when there is

no other place

left.