7 february 2019
Fealty
Doing nothing, for no
obvious reason, engaging
the travails of self-watch, I do
not want to confront the propensity
of withdrawl.
The elder pain blooms, again
like Ipomea. Will not stand the
bright sun’s gaze, I will sail―
out between the blackened
teeth and stammering
words.
It sucks, the female snake.
The phloem, the flora. A tree kills
its own birds. Cannot ambulate
tender promises. A stricture
chokes the poem. Double-
edged truth lifts the weight.
Moon knows the art of giving.
Sends the blood tears.
20 april 2024
To Dying MuseSatish Verma
19 april 2024
1904wiesiek
19 april 2024
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ItinerantSatish Verma
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Nim kur zapiejeJaga
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Przed zmrokiemJaga
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I RememberSatish Verma
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....wiesiek