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Fealty

Doing nothing, for no obvious reason, engaging the travails of self-watch, I do not want to confront the propensity of withdrawl. The elder pain blooms, again like Ipomea. Will not stand the bright sun’s gaze, I will sail? out between the blackened teeth and stammering words. It sucks, the female snake. The phloem, the flora. A tree kills its own birds. Cannot ambulate tender promises. A stricture chokes the poem. Double- edged truth lifts the weight. Moon knows the art of giving. Sends the blood tears. Satish Verma

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




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