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.