On Rigid Heel
You are the smokey love for which I bleed
Between heart's stuttered flutter I begin
To measure fertile 'core survivor' need
When gone to spawn the spectral-dawn of sin.
Pretension eats a little dignity
Then leaves me like a leper on the road,
Left begging for charades called charity
To gain an extra hand to lift a load
Or just a tear from eyes that coldly stare
Where soul and body disappear from view
As I look up, a penitent in prayer,
One last and final time, I will see you
Turn round with twisted face on rigid heel;
Again, you never see the things I feel.
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