Here, in heaven
we don’t bleed, or eat
or exactly live;
can’t make life from life
or books from words…
Greeted by the weight
in our heart's space
(was the artery thick with
the fat things of
what went before?)
we are sorted onto
coloured clouds.
Here, in heaven
instead of the blood visit
from that sacred place
we find the men
drip from their faces
red, but not hot…
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