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Toxic Memory

They were teaching how to butcher
the lamb
and suspend the bines with
drooping hops.
I climbed out of my ashes towards
a marinated moon turned blue in consternation.

Warts and all, here we were ready
to pick up the lost threads to start
a conversation about the hurricane making
landfall, in near future.

After the fall, graffiti appeared on
the clouds, spurting sperms
on the stars.


Satish Verma

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