Horizon

Can you tell me which way the wind blows, when the exorcist walks among us? Through secret gardens, he steps quietly. Licking drainpipes and sewer ducts, testing them for arsenic. An ice vault is blasted open from underneath us. Men covered in nails come to collect the pieces. The lost ruins of ancient Peru piled up against the horizon. We hope to climb over it. I can see you’re alive and smiling. I can tell you’re awake but still dead under those layers of skin. Peeling back blues, yellows and crimsons. I wash my hands in your hair and reckon I can see forever from here.