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Knuckled Down

Fearing the haze of ending this body does not behave now. Puppet show was over. Punch – drunk we move amidst the psychopaths, who were foraging the aroma from armpits. Loincloths hanging on the strings to strangle the pigeons. Everything moves with precision. Sex on the mind. The master wants the untouched flesh, quietly without any sound. SATISH VERMA

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Date: 3/25/2009 8:01:00 AM
feelin' resentment, outrage, violence, but somehow, I can't quite pin it down, your wonderful opening line wonderfully spins my brain! great poem, again! Jim
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Book: Shattered Sighs