When The Flesh Ripens

Mission aborted.
Imprisoned,
I do not touch anything
I do not mention your name.
The chance was to quit the microcosm
of your powered bones.
Wanting the street to run
to end the standing against screams.

It jumps like a toad,
the truth. I catch it.
Wets my hand. The failure of the gossip
to turn me on.I was not willing
to become a scapegoat. In dialogues
must we play the words
without sleep? The moon stalks,
me on my way to nowhere.

Satish Verma