Author Information
Verged Into The Suicidal Art
Folder:
Satish Verma Unnaming pro-lifers, I
was ready to imitate
the song of the ruins.
Rising like a phonex
from the spermaceti of flames,
a unisexual rage,
engulfs the smoke of burning homes.
I am painting you
black, O white god, your
devotees were coming in the nude.
Bend down angel; the eclectic
door was small and the beautiful
windows were closed.
No need to wait for
a lost moon. The godchild
had been laid to rest in scythe bed.
Come when you are
going to faint in the arms
of poems. I will stay for eternity.
