Satish Verma
Pandering
In a haunting trove -;
there was a synthetic insanity.
I asked the moon
to scan the chest.
Fever was rising.
You eject your eyes in a bowl
of silver to read the
lines of money.
A stark effect overwhelms
the spectrum, like the components
of a booty, to be digested
for deep flaws of society.
I should, if I could
rip open the zipped mouth
of black death to count the
teeth of shrunk questions.
After all it was democracy.
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