Satish Verma

Barebones, they come 
in droves, to drink blood moon 
praying in catacombs. 

A summer night sets 
over the hills with black eyes. The 
cleavers have some jobs to be done. 

In perfection, the bodies 
should be laid― along with red woods. 
The autistic moon will find its lover. 

Aborted dawn, the clouds 
had covered the womb. The 
terrible sun had been roped in. 

Earth weeps. There was 
no peace.A ghost town rumbles 
on. I cannot crack the code.

language_game's picture

i like this... especially the

i like this... especially the opening stanza.