I exit the beige bedroom with no blood on my chin,
Jesus sensations through fallout cigarette,
God grows old - ashes and finds cradle within wind,
Holy Ghost of perpetual memory chains wrist,
winks from across the corridor on tram # 11,
circuital -

if you come searching, my thorn-eyed love,
I'm where I always was.

I cobweb like Christ on a mobile cross,
I've seen that old library, that gated community penitentiary,
even that blackbird over and over and over again -

heaven.

In heaven, my thorn-eyed girl, arrived.

There's nowhere to go from here.