Salvation

Long after the beginning
there a lone standing mirror
leaning on a flickering streetlight
gently caressing his weary feet
baptized by urban sulfur water
the antidote to history’s monotony
expanding imperialist new order
the perpetual crusade for passivity
neatly wrapped in coloured plastic
hanged with the outmost care
from the rain soaked toes
a dismembered and rotting Jesus
above a bored Mary Magdalene
hoping for her first client
perhaps an inexperienced sailor
restless for her initiation
yet distant in absent depression
leaving only empty spaces
and a tri-coloured apple pie
in the fading obsolete image
of a black and white television
in a messy storage room
of the old bourgeois brothel
an ancient train station
where over dozed preachers
regret having ever married
whole lifetimes wasted
to only now fall far short
as the axe became heavy
hands now far too soar
not able to cut down that cross
alas a lasting recourse
a final and reflective impression
a syringe in his veins
and a fully loaded bible
to his heavy weary head.