Stigmata
The third eye bled
steam and ash,
an avalanche
over the line
of the horizon.
The flaming sky
echoed
thunder
from the prison of
cloven palms.
Sound the bell,
untie the gates of hell,
yet people,
peoples won't flinch.
He knelt under the tree,
with seas of fire behind him,
He whispered as he made for me...
'You...'
The stigma of a dream
pours
over the barren coffins
of the living.