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Satish Verma After tasting the homemade
poison, the walls,
start moving.
The poppies are in bloom.
I am not interested in morphine
or codeine. A sago palm has
come of age, preparing to
put up the conical sex.
A trust deficit will not know,
the signature of veneer, of
the gender.
Something moves behind the
bushes. I was already afraid
of emptiness. After the violence,
amputations and barrenness.
The desert invades my bones.
Cannot sleep with hands
on my chest. Will you
collect some runners?
I want to raise
the grass for the sake of commanality.
