After Serial Blasts To Make a Point

After seeding the clouds they were going to buy wet lips. Seven minutes to make a bomb : a micro-chip, ammonium nitrate and a circuit, one headless body squirts a long jet of blood. Run, run for the cover, with nuggets of wailing times. Black walls intercept the flames. A nimbus suspends the door. Cryptic commands fail. A body sprawls on payment for wheels to move. You hand me a child to find his bilolgical mother. A long manifesto makes the cadaver shrink. Clocks spin in frenzy. Mirrored people look like ghosts. A city burns. SATISH VERMA