Green Circle Poem by Satish Verma
Green Circle
You are peeling me off
like a crab.
Time has sunk very low.
For the hungry kids
who was growing crab apples?
Creating art,
arriving between the pubes.
A microfossil
roosting within me.
I could live without oxygen.
Incandescent,
the liquid wounds.
I will not send any salvo.
Monday, April 9, 2012
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4/23/2024 1:15:46 PM # 1.0.0.1119
