Satish Verma

Don’t you agree with my ability 
to loosen up on our times in no night? 
A river thing was flowing 
through foliaged silence. 

In deranged hour of the 
neck tie, you throw up obscenity 
on road. What? Chicken hearted? 
Sickle cell anemia? 

Goat rioting before sacrifice: - 
the tiny feet will dropp from heaven 
to walk in blood and bless you 
for dispatching the head of unlove. 

The night hawk butchers the hope, 
if the baby owl cries again. Afraid, 
I am going to take a flight 
to yellowing moon.

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