lightning cracked a crooked cross across the sky above the cross where he'd been hanging for a day (he was stoned again!) The breeze grew ice threw knives blew halos hallowed cinders flew together made a cushion for his feet. There were spikes in his sandals, spikes in his ankles... A spike split the wood, syringed his vertabrae. Spikes in his shins in his chin in his fingers... Amused apparitions hummed the Marsollaise. We had to look away, he seemed so fragile. We tried to offer him a cigarette but it was futile... no way through. The guards screamed "Front!", drew guns, splashed acid.. so we retreated to the shadows squated low and said a prayer Cameras clicked out of sight there are fights, there were fanfares. Fireworks flashed across the cenotaph. Kiddies played in the pits, spitting crisps, licking icecreams. A spiv threw an auction for his autograph. I never thought it would finish quite this way. No resistance not a word to say but maybe we'll meet in heaven. We can talk about those good old days. I believe (at least I WANT to believe)