come home

anabel walk into the stream the last vein of a dying desert town, stream of mercury and arsenic anabel feel the pollution of baptism, the water melted about your legs pregnant with a thousand sunglinted seasons of excrement, filth, lillies and held breaths, greying blue potency flowing around your fingertips from the north, see anabel, from the north the aurora borealis boiled ice caps steam and hiss, from the north hear the sound of frozen faith dissipating, a faith in an eternity now heaving cancer laden death, so look for it in the rising little anabel flower lean to the breaking meagre skyskin sunsoaked in blood painting the baby blue gauze, nowadays that blood light's ever a little late in seeping from the wound, anabel wait for the screeching tires, the yelp of a dog and in the silence thereafter turn, turn your face to the south, suffocate in the song of tribal beat vibrating in a stagnant wind, the muted wavelength of equatorial genocide, the steel flashing on the apex of a swing headed for flesh, exhale the smoldering of the ghettos, breathe a rhythm of bombs fireworking desperation/fear/hope up into the daylit sky, ash snow falling upon the machete gripped knuckles, upon the mighty tossing children, the evidence, into deafeningly deep wells dark, neural twitching in cold until, anabel, until you face the falling, the cooling, the sweating sleep and worry that there ain't another step you can take to get away from it, ain't another step to get away from the ever encroaching wolf howl, the lion stalking down from the hills. anabel, you set sail an empty boat to get away, to sail west, to meet a sun that may never come round again, the wind at your back a black and blue fugitive slave with nothing to do but turn back to face the east with raised fists, nothing to do but turn back around and leave your ship faltering, stranded dead still taking in the sea, taking in the failed momentum of an insatiable humanity, sinking under the weight of wasted, directionless timeflow. so look up anabel, the vultures are circling in weakening thermals, you will not get better, the sky is draping about you in a death gown. oh anabel, there is no place for you, the seasons are ending, dearest anabel, release your footing and be flowed, carried as you are to disintegrate again into the gaining and the losing, into the escaped and unbound, into the flesh of our convict universe fleeing breathless and bloodhounded neath the moonless night