18 february 2012
AGAINST THE TIMES
Lipped-wet,
Counterfeits.
Fakes neither audible
nor visible.
The moment dies
in our hands.
It was a non-
happening.
Silence booms
destroying the palace,
of dreams. I should have
become the scissors.
This poem is not charitable
gnawing at the underlip
of an orphaned
moon.
Satish Verma
14 february 2026
wiesiek
14 february 2026
Jaga
13 february 2026
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12 february 2026
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12 february 2026
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11 february 2026
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10 february 2026
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10 february 2026
nieRuda
9 february 2026
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7 february 2026
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