Live Baits - Poem by Satish Verma
An autopsy was being conducted
to silence the rising dialogue,
pulling out the lethal crunch
of scripted history.
You want the kiss of a parting grain.
A secondhand face crops
up in a newspaper. Are you ashamed
of curtains? They have covered
all the skeletons. The tangerines,
why do I remember them
like juicy lips in dark.
We are going to bungle together,
decked up to receive the body
of a honed player.
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