Sick Times

And how shall we trace the trajectory of a lungless scream coming out of a slit throat? Time was overrun by gnostic resentment in absolute mind. The fury of a gathering food riot: do you hear the memorial rising, rising – on bones of hunger, swollen eyelids? Soon they will meet on the bellies. The fumigation starts, of lies a bactericidal, to wipe out the germs in dumb minds. The prognosis failed, life moves in a tunnel, absent and present! SATISH VERMA