Song Of Unquiet Spirit

Staples were traveling on the
epiderm, thanking the wounds.
The dust, the eternal ugliness
were growling.

Riveting drama:
a royal swanking for a macabre
heist. A bizarre charisma
overtakes the cozy lips.

I was green,
and I was a cloud
where the sunflowers meet
beneath the sun.

Blind poppies assert themselves
unfurling a flag of milky sap.
The wasps were going-
to become stingless.

Satish Verma