Satish Verma

A sage plant scrambles for the 
mob, walking out of bed 
and begs for a death. 

The adolescence had become 
graphic. Do you agree with the 
splurge of moonlight under the street light? 

The unborn stink was hovering 
after the shipwreck. The seagulls 
were bewildered. 

There was only one slogan 
for the black booth. 
Priest was sitting cross-legged in a liplock.

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