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exiles

babylon strains

and i lean with the wind

groaning in pain
cos the labour is

toiling    the    soil    rocky

and the neon lights flash
harder
covered in filth and weeping with
knowing that there’s more to love than
30 dollars and a blue strip light

casualties line the way

the exiles who fell
who
crossed
the
river
but
forgot how to sing

babylon stains

and the exile forgets

the homeland
the bus throbbing
the concrete coolness

sirens

sweat and bills
lullaby our senses
until our one certain hope
is another
dream.

but the voice remains
and should you prise off the
gag
the words flood your head and
heart like
final sun rays
or forgiveness

This is not your home.

.

Published on Fulcrum.

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