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The Great Decline
Folder:
Satish Verma Abetting the suicide of
a bystander, your impacted
diamond, downs the hips.
What had you done to
me? I will not hold you responsible
for the ache.
There was the aging moon,
still lingering in the―
crack of dawn.
I don’t close the door.
Will wait for the big question
from the exotic death―
of dark matter, which
defied the relationship
of unique absurdities.
