A SOUL CART CREAKS

As possibilities crumble to ash
around the caster-feet I bolted to my heart
these little wheels, canted, noisy, wind-wobbly.

Neutronic heaviness forced this modification-this ambulatory abomination that is dragged behind me by a chain wrapped hastily around and knotted, carefully gripped by hands covered in scar-webs.

The eyes of the watchers are fever-bright
savoring the rising mist of heartbreak
inhalation of crimson, corrosive pain
exhulting in the sweetness of my suffering
eyes heavenward but Hades birthed their joy.

I drag my soul before their gallery of sorrow
clanking links of rusty regret
make scraping noises on the stained glass
sainted floor of eternity; downtrodden ikons
in this hostility home of the cunning mind

I am weary of this shambling progress
this pilgrimage of pain
I lay myself down on the stained StStephen
he whom the wren betrayed
it's as good a place as any.