Home

Home
is the sound of
Flying paper airplanes,
Flying toy airplanes
(But hard and real
With flash of steel – )
Rolling through
The tar-brick streets
Like muffled thunder;
(Dull and low
As stones in gutters
Sharp as knives
Through cooking butter –)
The stomach
Of a steel-pan Beast
Searching empty Sky
In Wonder –
Searching Prey
In Vain.

Flitting in
And out of dreams
Night-time noises,
Memories
Screaming
Biting,
Fighting nightmares
A story someone
Must have told
(Long ago.)
(Through Nights
with Misty stars
and Skies –
The way
The sound
Of the iron bird flies)

A low drone
connecting
all I know
(Long ago,
I heard it too.
It meant the smell
Of somewhere new.)

My childhood
wrapped up in fantasies,
cloud-tipped
steel-winged
Sky Machines;
connecting all the
Worlds I've seen.