The texture of my

The texture of my
          soul is abrasive—
Humility and war
          tear from its thorns—
Aesthetics and ethics—
          crack beneath claws—
Tissue and sinew
          split between teeth—
A soul of steel nails
          rusting new into old—

When God rubs His
          hand across the world—
I prick His fingertip— His
          blood— drips fire and gold—