The Blooming Blood

Sky-clad, you are going to meet the nemesis, digging the street to? find the nails. Do not fret. Nails had burrowed deep in the flesh of unknown. When you have nothing to say, what are you going to say ? My heart misses a beat. Takes a pause to look at the spring of songless birds. I watch myself ruined amid the legless run. Soon they will be coming to wash the stones with tears. Do you smell the pungent smoke rising from the no name tragedy. Tonight the gas will not burn in the kitchen. The beds will remain unslept. Satish Verma