Slaughter House.
Stupefied in this vast slaughter house
Where the fingers of crude murderers seek
The napes of neck the sheaf of hair
Forget settled ways now just seek mad heroism.
This is the end of me perhaps wind will carry
On back of coarse canvas a song of prejudice
To torture to kill cut down the sleepy slopes
Along hills where spiders set fire to hazel leaves.
The forces of intimidation settling on waxpod
Marshes
Into tasteless heaps of gold and the marbled
Symptoms
Filled with guillotined leaves ad the barren
Forest
The universe mislaid now among some nocturnal
Trivials.
Copyright © Durlabh Singh | Year Posted 2008
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