Dark Corners
On a wrinkled trajectory
the blood averts to abstract remission,
I am out of place in time and history.
Try to nudge the jumping ants
with their cyberweapons
ready to strike the antique nectaries
of judgements. The predators were
coming. Killing for long necks and
pinkish lips. You envision a period..
of dearth for visage, for phrases
of dead skins: I start dismembering
the past, contained in future.
This was a total disaster of unknowing,
adrift between the fingers;
sands of time, ungrained, unwatered.
SATISH VERMA
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment