Beneath the Skin

It was not a demigod, elephantiasis of a beast, snakes sitting on head. A catastrophic tree view.I was proud of being alive during carpet-bombing. A catnip was needed to clear the vision. The town was moving out shedding its landmarks. Nocturnal flares were disturbing the lovers. A chronic shift in sex starved season. The birds had stopped going behind the bushes. Each day seeks permission to bury the dead, and grass waits for the noble feet. Ultra hemo cover was not there. Drained out we were becoming pale to account for the loss of blood in cross-firing. Ultimate pain in chest will unburden the task of a funeral prayer. SATISH VERMA