Furious Wounds

A hoot at midnight
goes challenging the deaf.
You strip to bones.

The dawn persists:
Will the sun on the sea
kill the dreams?

Do you see the gap
between the clouds?
I am going to make a heap of
all the interstitial escapes.

Flesheaters were scrawling on
the cheeks. A revolution of
wheels has failed.

A baby dies in womb
without A leap into future.
The father carries the burden
of chimneys.

A godless moon laughs
at the stupid earth,
which was talking about stars.

Satish Verma