ONLY METAPHORS

A hidden self portrait 
in a tar pit 
I do not want to explore further. 

Wind was making a big sound 
the tarp blowing off, 
I stand naked under the scortching sun. 

A classless pain rises fiercely 
I am careless about my height 
amdist tall peaks. 

Hypodermic, my little dachshund 
holds the time in small paws 
and plays with my stasis. 

I loose my taste of salt on lips 
charting between the tears 
of infant fears.

Satish Verma