It remained an apostolic town –
even after your death. Every
day it was windy. Every day
it would rain. Every fucking day.
You opposed us like a wall.
We wept. We went out to find you.
It was useless. Nothing remained:
only the spaces left between us.
You were an empty space.
You had gone. You were reappraised.
We burnt down your church.
The sky caught fire. The sky caught fire.
Bells rang out. We tore off our
clothes and danced in the streets.
We fucked complete strangers.
The next morning we all went to work.