The Same Kind

Pseudoscrubbing was going on the scripted drama, words apart. The tears were denied to him and the moon slowly made peace on the white marble of a cult, and the river had scored a victory. He was very upset by the absence of truth. Stupid god did not stand in the witness box to testify the morality of man. Genes were deciding the number of queens. People were still worshipping a pair of black Najas. Neanderthal skull marks a step in the evolution of art. The jaw bone still juts out to define a mafia don. The slit eyes make a good pottery class. White poison settles in the breasts. An ovarian carcinoma now spreads in bones. My toes are burning. Cannot walk straight I am not here. I am not there. I am not anywhere. SATISH VERMA