JET’S BLAXXX (alt title: CHASING RYŪJIN.)

Los Angeles, the city of angels.
Stars deported from the night skyline.
Jet’s black streaks flying in the sky.
A genocide of constellations.
Remember,
We once called stars the eyes of the angels,
Watching.

Jesus was born here, in the city of angels,
Where the star of Bethlehem was killed,
and wise men wander beneath—
Flickering streetlights.

In a city that blacked their stars,
Ground their angels.
They approached a manger of mange,
Bringing no gold, no frankincense, no myrrh.
Just crumpled up dollars of hope.

Chasing a dead angel’s glow, chasing the dragon…

They sought Jesus.
Not to worship.
But to touch.

Baptized in flickering artificial light,
Kneeling over—under bridges.
Lighting prayer candles over a spoon.
Bethlehem’s light bent off the syringe tip,
Forming a halo.

And still, in the city with no stars,
Angels and wisemen closed their eyes,
A jet of opium’s black streaks, clouding their vision.

And Jesus flickered—
As the halo dimmed to ash.