Cosmic Wound

one soul is opened, the pain of my life,
trees in hallways, bodies colliding, an
ache into the legacy, a mile into sight,
if to die tugging sin, abashed in sand.

all I know is beginnings, endings, more
passion, rage, cages, a tale in ashes,
celebrated at micro-aggression, at sore
flame, the Pope watching in sashes.

over in an area, sewn into more glue—
captured in terror, the ink-voiceprint,
penalty for flares, off its meter, into
its form, adoring souls, made flint.

I have lost souls in pain, needing fame,
the breath-bone, the tinge in silence,
a crime to adore passion, a fear too sane
the profanity; if but to fasten violence;

as against itself, its miseries, its matches,
faith in a gem, dim lights, the art’s home;
uncaged in one soul, released in ashes,
much stigma, skeletons, pain, bone.

tragic peppermint, mythic angelica, heart,
frantic into one life, aged by inner walls;
the fret of the mountain, the fountain dart,
sunk into one relying on spirit-soul falls.

inside of a soul lives a trenchant torch—
the flame in its holster, the tragedy sick;
aloof at times, watching in dear scorch,
to love as a person inside some skit.